


The Smell Before The Rain

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Discrimination, Forced Mpreg, Graphic Birth and non con are SKIPPABLE with relevant plotpoints summarized at end of chapter, Grief, Happy Ending, Knotting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mourning, Nephilim, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse, Stitches, True Mates, a/b/o dynamics, angels are not siblings in this universe, canon divergent from 14x19, heat induced smut, involuntary breeding, omega!cas, pregnant!cas, scent-bonds, secondary character death, sick!Cas, the universe is horribly sexist and everyone hates it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: Jack's corpse is still smouldering in the graveyard dirt, still half-held in Castiel's arms when Chuck decides he's done with the Winchesters and Co. ruining his plotlines. As a punishment, he throws them into a Godless universe he'd long-since abandoned where Team Free Will encounter familiar faces they never thought they'd see again.While the world appears the same at first, that impression is short-lived. Angels fight masked militias in the streets, Castiel falls ill with a fevered sickness that only Dean's touch can soothe, and the whole world operates under a biological class system that baffles its newest arrivals. When Castiel is kidnapped by alpha angels seeking to repopulate heaven, Dean and Sam must team up with the inhabitants of this new world to save their angel from a Heaven that's been closed and sealed for nearly eleven years.---A fic where Team Free Will unknowingly get thrown into A/B/O-verse. Canon-compliant, post-season 14 finale.
Relationships: AU!Cas/AU!Hannah, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 448
Kudos: 497
Collections: Mixtape Book Club Podcast - Discussed Fics, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Sup, y'all? I'm here with my first ever A/B/O fic.
> 
> And 'cause y'all know canon is my jam, I'm here with a canon A/B/O fic, a rare gem.
> 
> I have experience reading like two A/B/O fics, so if it doesn't fit all the tropes, I'm sorry. I TRIED. But I hope you enjoy where my brain took this. It's certainly been fun to write our heros trying to figure out what the heck an omega is and why the condoms have weird bases to them.
> 
> I'll be posting every few days, as I have most of the fic finished and entirely outlined. Since it's still being written, **tags will be added as I go**. I will try to warn as I add them, but always read the tags and take care of yourselves, babes. <3
> 
> Please have a read and don't forget to leave me a comment!
> 
> (Also, mega thank you to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for making me this moodboard that inspired the title. I LOVE IT AND YOU ARE PRECIOUS.)

“You killed my son.”

One sob. One wretched, wrenching sob. A sob that sounded like God had reached down Cas’ throat and tore it from the depths of his entire existence without mercy.

It was terrible. Even Dean, who had held a gun to Jack’s head not two minutes ago, had to look away and reach up to press his fingers into his eyes at the sight of Jack’s empty, burnt corpse lying prone on the ground under Cas’ shaking hands.

“Bring him back,” Dean choked out, dragging his hand down his face, pressing into his mouth as his lips trembled. “Bring him back right n—”

“You were going to kill him,” Chuck sneered, the lightness to his tone gone, the playful glint in his eye absent, evaporated and gone like everything else Dean thought they knew about their world. “Your job was to kill him but you’ve made the choice to destroy my _perfect ending!_ Do you even _know_ how many times I’ve had to re-write this ending!? I’m tired of it! Exhausted. Why do you _always_ do this!?”

Dean and Sam stepped back involuntarily as Chuck stepped towards them, no longer looking small. He looked horrifying and powerful, a crackle of thunder booming over their heads, grey clouds rolling over them and pulling colour from their world. Only Cas seemed unshaken by the power crackling off of Chuck. Instead, he seemed entirely lost in grief, pulling Jack from the ground, pulling him into his arms as he collapsed onto his hip, holding the smouldering corpse to his chest and staring at the ground like he wanted it to swallow them both.

Or take him instead of Jack.

“You killed him,” Cas whispered brokenly, a tear rolling down his face and soaking into Jack’s messy hair as he pressed his cheek to his head.

“He was a plot device,” Chuck hissed, lightning flashing behind his eyes—a minuscule glimpse of the all-powerful God that was vibrating under the skin of that meatsuit.

“You were all _plot devices_.” Spit settled on his lip as he hissed at them, pupils widening, his expression deranged. “I’m _finished_ with this story. I’m _finished_ with you.”

Dean was, despite everything he’d ever been, too frightened to speak for the first time in his life. _Everything_ had been fake. God had orchestrated everything—Heaven, Hell, the apocalypse... _what the fuck was real?_ And now, he was going to crush this world in his omnipotent fist and there was nothing Dean or Sam or Cas could do about it because God wouldn’t pull their strings to orchestrate his own death.

“Are you going to end this world?” Sam whispered as quiet as a breath—but the world was eerily silent—no birds, no cars, no rustling trees. Not even the roll of thunder anymore. Dean dared to look over and saw that Sam’s face was white, his eyes round like saucers. He looked like a boy. A small terrified boy. “A-Are you going to end it like you ended the others? T-The other stories that didn’t work out?”

As his fists curled at his sides, flickers and shocks of electricity and magic building within his fist, Chuck’s eyes darkened as he tilted down his chin, fixing Sam with a look of pure hatred. “No, I’ve put too much time into this universe to see it go to waste. I’ll make new heros, I’ll write them better than I wrote you. They’ll make use of this universe. I will.”

“And us?” Dean said, gesturing to his brother and Cas, feeling helpless. “You gonna kill us?”

“No,” Chuck rumbled, his pupils so large they looked black and bottomless. “No, I’m going to throw you into a forgotten universe, one that failed, too. Another where you _failed_ , where you can’t mess things up any worse. And there you can rot with the others that I left behind. In a universe that you already _fucked,_ and there you can truly revel in the emptiness of a Godless world. Isn’t that what you always wanted?” Chuck asked, laughing bitterly. “A world with no God? With complete freedom? Well...enjoy it, you useless sacks of meat.”

“Send us wherever you want,” Cas breathed, eyes glassy and shining, unseeing as he rocked Jack. “You’ve destroyed everything. Taken everything. Ripped us apart. You killed him. Nothing matters anymore, does it?”

His fingers raised to his shoulder, fingers pointed to snap together, Chuck leaned towards Cas and said, “Don’t worry yourself over a child, Castiel. Where you’re going? You’ll surely just make more.”

 _Click_.


	2. Be Beta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' thank you to my betas for this chapter: Wargurl83 & Beffi38!

Their knees hit gravel, and hands slipped over dirty pavement, grime coating their clothing and palms. It seemed Chuck had quite literally dropped them into another universe, or perhaps shoved them through a portal because Dean had but a moment to look behind him in time to see the flash of a portal evaporating into the air before it was gone.

And they had about a millisecond of silence and stillness as they settled into the new universe before sound returned like a vacuum and all around them there was chaos like someone had pressed play on a cosmic remote control.

Bullets and screaming. Fire and roars of anger. It was mere instinct that pulled Dean and Sam to their feet, their hands grasping for Cas, who still was on his hands and knees, tear tracks still shining on his cheeks, and his eyes still haunted like he was in that graveyard with Jack’s corpse in his arms. They tugged him to his feet but immediately forced him to duck as bullets flew past them. 

“FUCK!” Dean heard Sam exclaim behind him, and suddenly all of Cas’ weight was on Dean as Sam went barrelling into their backs, stumbling.

“Sam!?” Dean called behind them once he was sure he and Cas wouldn’t go tumbling face-first into the ground.

He turned to find Sam hissing and pulling his hand away from his arm, glancing at bright red blood as it trickled over his palm. “I-I was shot!”

His heart in his throat, but knowing they couldn’t stand in the cross-fire for much longer, Dean asked in a rush, “You good?”

Sam, still on his feet and pressing his hand back to his shoulder, nodded. “Flesh wound, keep moving! We have to run, we have to get out of here!” 

They barrelled into an adjacent, garbage-filled alleyway between a ramshackle video store and what looked to be a strip club.

Looking back, they seemed to have been dropped directly in between two clashing gangs in the middle of a big city street. Running cars blocked the road like one of the sides had wanted to trap in their enemies. Within the cars, around them, ducked behind the doors and piled into the back of pick-up trucks were people dressed in black beanies and dark, heavy clothing. They had guns strapped to their bodies and ammo draped across their chests. Across their faces they wore their brightest articles of clothing; white bandanas and scarves tied over their noses and mouths, their identities masked.

They fired at their enemies in a generous spray of bullets, and it only took one hit for Dean, Sam, and Cas to know exactly who they were battling. Men and women in suits brandished flashing silver blades and their eyes glowed as they fired beams of white light at their enemies, blasting doors clean off the cars and sending their masked assailants flying ten feet back into garbage bins, parked cars, and even some unfortunate crowds of pedestrians.

Angels.

The angels and the armed gang crashed into each other, fists colliding and blades parrying amidst the firing of guns. Dean and Sam managed to yank Cas out of the way, pulling him into the alley just as a woman popped out from the sunroof of one the black cars and threw a flaming molotov. 

As soon as the glass shattered at the feet of a couple of angels did Dean realize that the contents must’ve been holy oil, because the angels caught in the explosion shrieked and Dean watched them burn, their bodies seeming to burst in a flash of blinding light. The second Dean could look up again, a few angels were retreating, disappearing in clouds of white smoke, and the masked group was piling into cars, a few of them rushing forward to gather the wounded. 

“What the hell is going on?” Sam breathed, his wide eyes darting across the scene from behind long strands of hair in his face. “Where the hell did Chuck drop us?’ Pedestrians ran past them, fleeing the scene as Sam, Dean, and Cas were trying to do, ducking into alleyways and taking shelter in shops on either side of the street. 

“Angels,” a woman gasped out to her children, sweeping the youngest into her arms and yanking another small child by the hand past the pile of garbage Dean, Sam, and Cas were ducked behind. “Run, sweetie. Run, and don’t look back.”

Their attention was pulled from the civilians and back to the scene of chaos in the streets as the masked attackers began to peel away in their vehicles, though a few stayed to keep remaining angels at bay. One tall masked man with broad shoulders and an air of confidence—a leader, perhaps—fired an automatic rifle, aiming directly at the chest of a large angel who swept towards them with his feet lifted off the ground and an angel blade flashing, poised to strike.

The leader’s bullets hit home, blasting the angel in the chest and throwing him back, sending his body thumping back against the pavement. Dean watched in fascination as the angel’s vessel burst, white light rumbling from it through the street and leaving behind a smouldering corpse.

“NOW, BEN! NOW!” the leader roared hoarsely, spinning on his heel and running back towards their last car as the remaining angels soared towards him. 

A man crouching behind an open car door—Ben, presumably—surged up out of his crouch and slammed closed the door. 

With a jolt of panic, Dean seemed to realize in slow motion what was happening, seeing the shining bright red sigil painted on the door of the car and the dripping of it from the masked man’s hand. With a cry of “Cas!”, Dean shoved Cas behind a dumpster in time for the man’s bloody hand to meet the sigil. As Cas ducked and Dean threw himself over him, he felt Sam do the same.

Heat and power rumbled past them, and only under Dean, Sam, and the dumpster’s collective shelter did Cas manage to avoid being touched by the expulsion of power. The rest of the angels, Dean wagered, had no such luck. 

Once the light died away and they all raised their heads, Dean saw the bodies of the fallen angels left and the masked men slamming the doors of their cars shut behind them as they climbed in. The vehicles peeled away and down the street, away from the scene of the battle, and leaving nothing behind but tire tracks, smoke from their exhaust, and a burning corpse on the road in the middle of broad daylight.

In the distance, police sirens wailed, and out in the street he saw people begin to pour out of storefronts, rushing away to their cars and away from the scene. On either side of him, he felt Sam and Cas uncurl from their crouch and peer over the dumpster, too.

“Angels… Openly battling in the streets,” Cas rasped in dismay, giving his head a small shake and wiping his dirty hands on his coat.

Sam was doing the same on his jeans, his throating working as he watched an old man bring a fire extinguisher from within a drug store across the street and begin to put out the flaming angel corpse with a sour look on his face. 

“They might come back,” Sam said, his voice tight. Dean noticed he looked pale and the line between his eyes was deep. Dean wagered he probably didn’t look so hot himself. 

“Let’s get the fuck outta dodge and put some distance between us and this shitshow,” Dean growled, jerking his head towards the other end of the alleyway.

Unsure where the hell they were going, Dean, Sam, and Cas walked quickly towards the other connecting street. He was glad they didn’t seem to have to drag Cas anymore. The angel seemed to have found his feet, although he looked pale and distracted, his lashes still wet and eyes red. 

“We should find out where we are,” Sam said as they swept out into the new street, blending in with pedestrians, who walked quickly and tucked into each other, their paces quick as they glanced in the direction of the battle. Strangely, while there’d been full-on supernatural beings duking it out one street over, the civilians looked merely stressed, and not running in absolute terror as expected. 

It was then that Dean noticed, painted on storefront windows and spray-painted onto the side of buildings, were anti-possession symbols and…

“Enochian,” Cas rumbled, gesturing to a series of professionally printed signage lining the bottom edge of a diner’s front window as they passed it. “There are Enochian protection spells on these windows. These buildings are heavily warded against…against angels.”

As they walked down the shitty, dirty city street, it was all coming together. 

“They know about angels and demons,” Sam said aloud, sounding just as shocked as Dean felt. “They’ve got anti-demon and angel warding _all over_ most of these buildings. Look!”

The three of them came to a stop outside a barbershop. Among certifications and health inspection documentation, a business license, a rainbow sticker, and the shop's name, there were other signs; ‘ _Mortals only’, ‘No Wings, No Problem’, ‘Free Salt and Holy Water kit available inside’,_ and _‘We only take Visa, Mastercard, Cash, Debit, and customers with a pulse.’_

A pentagram with a circle around it was etched into the swirling barber pole, revolving around and around, reminding anyone on the streets that a demon would not be able to enter. And again, the same Enochian warding was printed on a long sticker lining the bottom of the window. 

“What does it say, Cas?” Dean asked, glancing over at Cas who was already staring at it, the corners of his eyes pinched.

The angel’s jaw clenched. “In brief, I wouldn’t be able to enter through those doors. Neither would a demon.”

Sam rolled his shoulder and grunted, pressing his hand to his wounded arm again. “We need to figure out what’s going on, but…I need to patch this up first. I’m bleeding everywhere, we’re gonna draw attention.”

While Cas stared at the stickers, licking at his lips and furrowing his brow, and Sam grunted in pain as he pressed his palm to the bullet graze on his arm, Dean turned on his heel and looked out across the street, scanning the storefronts for anything that could help. As he did so, he took in the off-putting big city smell. It was stale, but still rather strong like garbage, piss, and vaguely like sewer despite the absence of humid summer heat. In this autumn chill, the city itself was rather gray, though perhaps they’d been dropped in a bad area. It seemed low-income with tight, narrow apartments above storefronts, and a mix of ramshackle high density and medium-density housing. Many commercial lots were closed off, some demolished and in pieces, while others were open but a bit dicey looking. Most of the cars parked on either side of the road were old and rusted.

But directly across the street was a pharmacy, so Dean smacked Sam on the back and grunted, “Drug store, 12 o’clock. Let’s do this and get the fuck off the street before some militia-wannabe kills Cas.”

Luckily, the only sticker on the window of the pharmacy was an anti-possession sticker and an acrylic sign that said _‘Proud Member of the Bureau of Beta Business Owners’—_ whatever the fuck that meant—so the boys walked in easily. Cas winced as he passed the threshold, clearly expecting to be ejected from his vessel, but as soon as they were in, his shoulders relaxed somewhat and before Dean could lay out a game plan, the angel swept down an aisle, breaking away from them.

Dean stared after him, sighing before he turned to Sam and—

“Oof!” Dean said, jumping back as nearly ran into a heavily pregnant man. “Sorry, bud, I…”

 _A heavily pregnant man_. 

Dean stared at the guy who jumped back, too, but laughed quietly in a polite chuckle under a heavy mustache and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“No worries, friend,” the man said, resting his hand atop his large, _very large,_ round, _very round_ stomach and tipped his hat to him. “It’s all good.”

Dean stood in silence, his mouth dropped open. All he could really do was nod as the guy smiled and stepped around him to exit. Dean caught Sam’s eye as the bell above the threshold rung and the door closed behind the stranger. 

While Dean looked a bit shocked, Sam looked perplexed, his brows raised, his mouth opening and closing as he, too, seemed a bit lost for words.

Sam settled on, “What was _that_ all about?”

“Disgusting to look at, isn’t it?” a slimy voice said from behind the counter. 

Dean turned to follow the voice, hoping he didn’t look as deer-in-headlights as he felt. “Uh, what?”

A tall skinny man with a pin-straight part in his dark hair pointed a long knobby finger at the door. “That omega. Spoke to you as an _equal_ , called you ’friend’. No sense of decency in this world anymore,” the man sneered, wrinkling his nose as he went back to writing in an old, curled notebook in front of him that was covered in coffee stains. 

“Uh, it’s not a big deal,” Dean replied slowly, unnerved by this Professor-Snape-like creep calling someone an ‘omega’. While Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, he could deduce from the man’s tone that he wasn’t using the alien term kindly. 

The cashier raised his eyes and asked, “You must be new around these parts. _That_ unsavory omega spreads his legs for any alpha with a sharp jawline and a big knot. I’m surprised this is his first time carrying a child, though I suppose the near bulk amount of birth control I provide him usually does the trick.”

Sam and Dean stood near the counter, staring at the man who squinted his beady eyes after the ‘omega’, who was having a slow go crossing the street with his large stomach.

“And that’s...normal?” Dean asked slowly, pointing through the window.

The shopkeep snorted and swiveled his dark eyes at Dean, a mean-spirited little smile curling on his thin lips. “An unmated omega? You must be from the country. I suppose the culture is a bit more...traditional out there. I’ve been meaning to get out of this disgusting, violent city, but alas, my business…”

Unmated what? Dean had been referring to the dude who looked like he was two seconds from dropping a newborn from between his legs, but apparently that wasn’t shocking to Gothic Jeeves, so Dean had no choice but to assume that, yes, it was normal.

“Yeah, we’re from the country,” Sam offered quickly, nodding. He gestured to his arm with his bloody hand and said, “I’m, um, bleeding a little. You sell hydrogen peroxide?”

Dean and Sam exchanged scowls when the man rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely out at his pharmacy. “Yes, of course, I do. Aisle four.” He jutted his pointy chin at Sam and asked, “Got caught in the crossfire between the militia and the angels?”

With a twitching scowl, Sam nodded. “Yeah. You heard about that?”

“Yes,” the man sighed, shaking out his notebook and licking at his pen. “I’m subscribed to the emergency alerts on my phone. _And_ I heard the gunshots and the usual ridiculousness of supernatural violence, of course. It’s hard to ignore, especially when the militia’s taken to using _fire_ these days. Idiots.”

The shopkeep went back to his...well, whatever the hell bookkeeping he was doing in the stupid notebook. 

“Why aren’t you warded against angels?” Sam asked, gesturing to the window and wincing as his shoulder oozed more blood into his shirt and between his fingers. 

The shopkeep shrugged and punched a few numbers into a huge, bulky calculator on his desk. “The warding is bullshit. If an angel wants to get into my drug store, they’ll throw a car through the front window. Morons who slap large, obvious warding on their property may as well post a big neon sign out front that says ‘I am your enemy’. I’m no idiot, I would rather _not_ antagonize them, and besides, nothing in here is of value to them. They so rarely show their face on Earth anymore anyway, not after the war ended.” He paused, looking up at them and gesturing between them with his pen. “You don’t get much violence out in the country, though, do you?”

Sam blinked, glancing at Dean for help that he most certainly wasn’t going to offer—Sam was on his own—so he replied, “Nope.”

“Hm,” the man grunted, then went back to his calculator. “Anyway, aisle four. Just to the left of the bandages. Try not to drip blood on the floor.”

With a grunt of thanks, Dean followed Sam down aisle four, only to find Cas already at the end, crouched and throwing supplies into a basket. 

“Beat us to it,” Dean pointed out. 

As Cas rose to his feet, Dean found himself bristling, expecting Cas to not meet his eye, or meet them with a look of anger or hatred. After all, it’d only been half-an-hour since Dean’d had a gun to Jack’s head. Cas probably had no idea how Dean had regretted it the moment he’d clicked off the safety, and desperately wished he could take it all back as soon as there were black holes where Jack’s eyes used to be.

But Cas met Dean’s eye and all that was there was sadness, the lines around his red eyes deep. 

“You okay?” Sam asked, resting a hand on Cas’ shoulder, still massaging his own wound, though Dean noticed the blood was slowing its ooze.

Cas shook his head at the floor and jerked his chin back towards the front counter. “No, Jack is dead and we have no idea where we are, but you require first aid and I don’t know how safe we are out in the open. Let’s go.”

Cas swept past them, and while it was an entirely inappropriate time to notice, Dean inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of Cas. Honey, cinnamon, lemons. Rain. Fresh rain. Dean was momentarily struck by every note of the aroma and had the ridiculous impulse to grab Cas and _sniff_ him but with a perplexed shake of his head, Dean just turned and followed Sam up the aisle.

As they did, he peered around, trying to sniff out some clues about where they were, instead of sniffing Cas. Looking from one side of the aisle to the other, Dean didn’t pick up anything too strange; deodorant, toothpaste, diapers…

...suppressants. Birth control. 

Dean paused, glancing after Cas and Sam who hurried to the counter ahead of him. Reaching out, Dean picked up a random tiny bottle from the row of many, turning the openly available birth control bottles. Weird. He was pretty sure these required a prescription...

 _‘Don’t Be Yourself, Be Beta’,_ one box said in curly red writing under the drug name that was too many letters for Dean to even try to pronounce. 

“Hormone Masking Suppressant and Birth Control Mixture for Omegas: 2000mgs,” Dean mumbled under his breath, scowling. 

What the fuck was an omega? Dean knew he should ask, but he also felt, due to the clerk’s tone, that asking the definition of an omega was like asking what cheese was. 

Confused, Dean put the bottle back on the shelf and moved onto the condoms one gondola over. Intrigued, he picked up a purple metallic box with big gold writing on it and flipped it over. 

_‘KnoXXX: XL Male Contraceptive Sleeves with an Extra Large Receptacle, big enough to take even the biggest loads from the biggest knots. No XL Unmated Alpha should go without our premium latex—’_

Dean put down the condoms quickly and stared at the display of multi-coloured boxes, feeling all kinds of weird. 

_Knots. Omegas. Alphas. Unmated this, mated that. Internal Male Omega Sleeves._ What...the fuck?

“Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Dean murmured, picking up the pace to meet Sam and Cas at the counter. 

As he came to stop between them, Dean noticed Cas staring at a small display on the edge of the counter by his elbow. 

_Don’t be Yourself, be Beta._

It was an ad for the pill Dean’d been scoping out in aisle four. In the ad, a smiling man was holding up the same white and red box. He wore a fake grin like ladies in yogurt or tampon commercials and was surrounded by equally fake-grinning friends in a picturesque picnic scene, looking happy as a pig in shit because of whatever that weird pill was supposed to have done to him.

“You should consider it,” the shopkeep said, his voice like oil.

Sam paused mid-rifle in his wallet, and both Cas and Dean looked up in tandem.

“Excuse me?” Cas asked as he realized the clerk was staring at him through narrowed slits, his lips all but curled back from his teeth.

“The suppressant,” the man sneered, taking the cash Sam was holding out awkwardly and eyeing Cas like a gross bug that’d landed on his meal. His long nose was wrinkled and in a nasally voice, he went on, gesturing to the display. “It’s not proper, you know, to walk around unmated at your age, surrounded by two unmated alphas. People will question the nature of it all. And I don’t think you should be without them if you choose to live such a...a _free—”_ The man said the word like it left a bitter taste on his tongue. “—lifestyle. Others shouldn’t have to put up with you. You’re stinking up the place, frankly.”

“Ooookay,” Sam interrupted, raising a hand to stop the man. “I think that’s enough. Just give us a bag and we’ll go.”

Dean couldn’t see Cas’ face, but he could see the way he bristled and his shoulders got tight, forming a rigid line under his beige coat. In his stomach, Dean felt a strange abrupt spike of anger and defensiveness.

“Rude, buddy,” Dean snapped. “Not everything that crosses your brain needs to come outta your mouth, y’know. Customer service. Read about it.”

The clerk seemed unbothered, shrugging one shoulder under his red vest as he ducked down to get them a bag. Once he stood, shook out the plastic, and began to slip their items into it, he added, “It’s just thoughtless. To have to force others to endure the stench. Perhaps you all were better suited to the countryside where his smell was masked by pigs and shit.”

Dean reached back for the gun he had in the back of his jeans, but Cas pushed off his heel and headed towards the door, his trenchcoat flapping behind him, his hands curled into fists.

Sliding his gun back the inch it’d been retracted, Dean hissed, “You’re a piece of work, buddy,” to the shopkeep and followed Cas.

“Go on, take a pamphlet,” the clerk said to Sam. “Think about it. It’s unseemly to have one of them of that age leaving the waft of their heat behind. It’s just improper, you know. Next time, leave him at home.”

“Sure, whatever,” Sam muttered, and as Dean followed Cas, unable to avoid inhaling the warm, pleasant smell of him, he looked back to see Sam shove a pamphlet in their bag and throw a glare at the clerk.

They stepped out into the street. Dean resented the pleasant ringing of the bell above the door and had an irrational urge to rip it down and throw it across the dirty street. 

“What a fuckin’ dick!” Dean snapped, walking up to Cas, who was standing on the curb, rubbing at his face and scrubbing at his hair. “Can you believe that shit?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, poking around in the bag and scowling. “His store smells stale as hell and he’s blaming _us_.”

“We should find shelter,” Cas rasped out, his hair a mess, the circles under his eyes dark and his cheeks red. “Before I hit something.”

***

Finding somewhere to lay low was ridiculously easy in the sketchy part of town Chuck had dropped them in. Nearly every apartment building had rooms for rent, and not forty minutes later, Dean was breaking into a vacant apartment in a particularly run-down building. All he’d needed to do was slip some bored looking residents a fifty and ask which apartment had been vacant for a while.

“It’s furnished,” Dean said cheerfully as he opened the door for Sam and Cas, peering around the place. 

“It smells funky,” Sam said, wrinkling his nose and running his hand over the edge of a kitchen table that had a few months worth of dust coating its off-white plastic surface.

Entirely distracted by whatever cologne Cas had sprayed on himself in the pharmacy—he's convinced himself that had to be it. Cas always smelled pretty good, but this shit was obscenely delicious—Dean shrugged. “Smells fine to me.”

Cas didn’t comment at all. He was busy jerking off his coat and loosening his tie. Before either brother could ask what was up, Cas threw his blazer over the back of a rickety chair and swept into another room. Sam and Dean jumped a bit when they heard a door slam.

“I think he took what the cashier said personally,” Dean murmured, raising his brows and sighing as he walked deeper into their new, shitty, temporary place.

Sam followed Dean into a room that looked like it was meant to be a living room but doubled as a bedroom. A queen-sized mattress was pushed against the wall across from an abandoned dusty couch, bracketing one sad, dusty window.

Dumping the first aid supplies onto the couch, Sam gingerly lowered himself onto it, wrinkling his nose as dust puffed up into the air around him from the cushions. Tightly, he said, “I think he’s more upset about Jack, Dean. Jack and…and what Chuck said.”

Darkness settled over them and Dean found himself curling his fingers into fists at his side. What Chuck had said… He hadn’t had time to process it until now. 

Their entire lives had been fake. Storylines orchestrated by a God who was bored and had an overinflated idea about his own importance. They couldn’t have any real way to tell what had been genuine or not, could they? Their parents, their lives, the apocalypse, their friends… What had been a plotline? What had been free will?

Had they ever had free will?

Dean reached up and rubbed his palms against his eyes. “Yeah. I’m upset, too.”

“But we always kind of knew that we had roles,” Sam went on, his hands taking on a very obvious tremor as he unscrewed the top off of a fresh bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Dean leaned his hip against the side of the couch, knowing he should help, but for a moment feeling entire frozen with dread at Sam’s words.

Sam tucked the bottle between his legs, his face wrinkling in pain, but he reached over to open a package of cotton rounds. His voice tight and raspy, Sam went on. “We knew we were destined for this or that; I was one of Azazel’s psychic kids, and then you had to kill me if it came to it, and then there was the shit with Michael and Lucifer. There were always prophecies about us, something foretold that we had no control over. But Cas? He… God was his entire life. I can’t imagine what’s going on in his head. A-And Jack—”

Sam’s voice broke, and Dean realized the grief that’d already taken Cas was taking Sam now, too.

“Hey, let me help. Come on,” Dean said, ashamed to identify a wobble in his tone as well. Needing to keep himself busy before the doom disabled him entirely, Dean sat down on the couch beside his brother and tugged at his sleeve. “Take this off before we gotta peel it off of you.”

Water began to run in the bathroom and both Winchesters swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge that Cas didn’t need running water for anything. Except perhaps to drown out noise… 

Dean’d spent too many moments of grief with the shower running, hoping no one would hear him have a moment of despair—

“Pass the HP,” Dean murmured, flexing his fingers at Sam after the plaid peeled off his arm in a sickening, slick squelch. After Sam passed the open bottle, Dean pressed at the graze, relieved to see it was genuinely just a flesh wound. “This should be easy to patch up. Hey, one win for us, I guess.”

“One,” Sam uttered at the ground, sniffling hard. “Great.”

“Come on, man,” Dean replied with a sigh. He rolled up the sleeve of Sam’s shirt and began running damp cotton round over the graze carefully, wincing as fresh blood oozed through the burnt, split skin. “Don't you go all doom and gloom on me, here. I can’t do this with you both ready to give up. We’ll get out of here, and we’ll kill Chuck and get Jack back.”

Sam lifted his head and looked over at Dean, a humourless smirk on his face. “Since when are you an optimist?”

“Listen,” Dean scolded, throwing a pink stained cotton bud onto the dirt, dusty wooden floor and reaching into the bag between his legs to get another, “this could have been so much worse. He could’ve sent us to Squirrel-verse. He coulda thrown us into apocalypse world, or a world where we had gills and no feet. But we’re here. Other than weird omega-3’s and alpha-blah-blah-blahs, and some angel-gang violence, shit is basically the same—Hold still.”

“It hurts,” Sam complained, glancing down at his arm where Dean was pouring hydrogen peroxide right into the cut. “Be gentle.”

Dean ignored him. “Our money works here, and most other shit is the same. We got a place to lay low and we know warding to keep us safe. If angels are the same, and warding is the same, then magic is the same. If we got magic, we can find a way back outta here.”

_Click._

The bathroom door opened, and Dean realized the water had stopped running. He and Sam raised their heads to glance over and found Cas leaning on the doorframe, the edge of his hairline damp like he’d splashed water onto his face. Dean watched a droplet of water drip off Cas’ chin onto his shirt and smiled at him.

Cas didn’t smile back. He lowered his red eyes to the floor and slid his hands into the pockets of his black pants, stepping into the room wordlessly and walking over to the window. He looked burdened and sorrowful like the world had entirely ended. 

_You’ve destroyed everything. Taken everything. Ripped us apart. You killed him. Nothing matters anymore, does it?_

Recalling Cas’ broken words as he held Jack’s body in the graveyard, Dean inhaled sharply and opened his mouth to say something to the angel, but Sam carried on their initial conversation; “To find a way out of here, we need to figure out where or when _here_ is. What do we know so far?”

Cas wrenched open the window he was staring through, and they all jumped a bit as it made a horrid squeaking noise followed by a crunch. But soon cool air entered the hot room, and Cas leaned on the sill with his elbows, his hair fluttering in the breeze.

“The existence of demons and angels is common knowledge amongst humans,” Cas rumbled quietly, gazing down into the street. The setting sun cast his face in a dull orange and emphasized the depths of the lines around his mouth. “They know and actively fear supernatural beings. The humans are violent against them… _us._ ” Cas paused to correct himself and tapped the tips of his fingers against the spongy-looking wooden sill. “The reason why is yet unknown, but the shopkeep spoke of a war. I imagine that’s when they discovered how to hurt or kill angels, but this requires more research to be certain.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, his eyes squeezing shut as Dean waved a needle through the air that he’d just run through a small flickering flame at the end of his zippo. “We gotta find out what omegas and alphas are, too.”

“Seems like kind of a big deal around here,” Dean said, looping thread through the eye of the needle. 

He glanced at Cas, who was bouncing his leg and rubbing at his face as he continued to gaze out of the half-open window. Dean noted a sheen to his skin and a certain…restlessness to him. 

“You good, Cas?” Dean asked gruffly as he leaned forward and held a bandage to Sam’s wound as he began to stitch.

“Ow!”

“Hold still.”

Cas pressed his fingers into his eyes and rubbed at them. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Dean glanced up at him again after kicking Sam’s ankle to get him to hold still. “You sure? You’re brooding pretty hard over there. Don’t take what the jerk in the drug store said to heart. You, uh, smell fine.”

Cas smelled more than fine. Cas smelled _great_. In the small apartment, Dean seemed to notice it more, the warm smell of Cas wafting up his nose, even cutting through the smell of disinfectant and alcohol compresses. Cas always smelled great, even back in their world. Dean wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he always automatically inhaled when Cas walked by, hoping to catch a whiff of that rain smell, the same one that washed over the earth right before a storm was rolling over.

“This whole fuckin’ place stinks,” Sam pointed out, interrupting Dean’s train of thought. His hazel eyes opened and he hissed in pain as Dean tightened a stitch. “Ever since we got here it’s smelled _off._ Not bad, but just strong. Like motor oil or something.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dean retorted, thinking his brother’s nose must be broken in this world. “You’re nuts. Just shut your trap and stop fidgeting. God, it’s like you’re sixteen again and can’t sit for shit!”

When Cas pushed off the window and paced the room, scrubbing at his hair, Dean refocused on Sam, but Sam was eyeing Cas through his wince.

“You sure you’re good, Cas?” Sam’s hesitant concern was audible.

Dean snorted, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he did another stitch. “Yeah, you smell anything funky, Cas?”

“It smells like leather and alcohol,” Cas grunted, his heavy footsteps stopping behind Dean.

“What?” Sam muttered in total confusion, just under his breath like he wanted to call Cas crazy but didn’t want to incur the wrath of Cas’ bad mood.

“How do you use this?” Cas asked, and Dean had to raise his head at the impatient snap of Cas’ tone. Still pressing the bandage to Sam’s wound, Dean turned in his seat, bouncing a bit on the lumpy, ugly couch. 

Beside Cas’ splayed hand on the peeling off-yellow wallpaper was a thermostat. Dean couldn’t see Cas’ face, but he saw the hard line of his shoulders and the way his hip was jutting out like he was ten seconds from ripping the dial right out of the wall.

“Uh, usually you just turn it,” Sam said slowly. “But it won’t be on if the unit isn’t rented out. We’re kinda stuck with this. Why? You can’t even feel heat, why do you care?” 

“Something is wrong with my vessel,” Cas grunted, his other hand coming down on the other side of the thermostat, and Dean was pretty sure if Cas wasn’t careful, he’d explode the thing with his mind due to sheer annoyance. “It’s…very warm.”

Dean agreed, but Sam glanced down and they exchanged quick looks of concern. 

“The window is open, Cas,” Sam said in the same careful tone, his eyes flickering to it. “It’s pretty chilly out, it looks like it’s some time in autumn—”

Cas slid his hands off the wall and he turned. Finally able to get a good look at his face, Dean saw a very distinct sheen to the angel’s skin now and a flush over his cheeks and down his neck, visible as Cas loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. Immediately, Dean was taken back to that one time he’d helped Cas look sharp for his not-date with his old boss. He’d looked so good with just a bit of chest peeking out from between the white linen…

The bags under Cas’ eyes were deep and a bead of sweat dripped down over his bobbing Adam’s apple.

Something was certainly off.

“What’s up?” Dean asked quickly, his eyes scanning Cas from head to toe, noticing the restless shake of Cas’ leg and the tremor in his hands around his tie. 

Cas stared across the room at the window and growled, “I feel uneasy. My vessel, it’s infuriatingly warm. Itching. My chest is heavy and—” 

Dean and Sam exchanged looks when Cas tugged on his collar, flapping it a bit and licking at his lips with a few muttered Enochian words under his breath.

“Uh… Maybe open the window up a bit more?” Dean suggested. Wracking his brain, he added, “D’you think you inhaled some of that molotov smoke? Touching holy oil kills you guys, right? I can imagine inhaling it probably wouldn’t make you feel so hot.”

Cas ran his wrist under his nose and nodded curtly. “Perhaps.”

“Maybe this world messes with your mojo,” Sam hypothesized. Bitterly, he added, “Or _Chuck_ is fucking with you.”

The room was growing darker as the sun was beginning to set. Dean turned back to Sam’s injury, knowing he was working with mere minutes before they wouldn’t have any light. The empty apartment they were squatting in hadn’t been inhabited in a while and there was no electricity. Luckily, they weren’t too high up and a street lamp glared through the window, providing at least a bit illumination.

“We’ll sniff out more intel tomorrow,” Dean rumbled, gliding the needle through Sam’s skin. “Sam and I will go out, grab some grub, and see if this crappy city has a library. You hang behind, ward the place up tight.”

Cas rubbed his palms at his sides and shook his head. “No use waiting until tomorrow to protect ourselves. I’ll make myself useful now.”

“Cas, there’s nothing to make wards with!”

“I have blood,” Cas replied irately from the next room over. “What use is it to me otherwise?”

Well. He had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the story is starting...
> 
> Tell me your thoughts in the comments! And please don't forget to subscribe to the story if you want to get notifications about updates.


	3. The Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your amazing comments so far, y'all! My readers are the best--FIGHT ME.
> 
> Thanks very much to [meowmeowsamurai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowmeowsamurai/works) and [shikaro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shikaro/works) from the PB Server for betaing this chapter. Also HUGE shoutouts to [son_of_a_bitch_SPN_family](https://archiveofourown.org/users/son_of_a_bitch_SPN_family/works) for not only also betaing but for being a kick ass cheerleader. Also mega props for [MalMuses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/works) for being an awesome cheerleader and letting me shower her with smutty excerpts of this chapter as I wrote it.
> 
> This chapter: Sam and Dean discover grizzly facts about this universe, and Dean and Cas get down and dirttttteehhh.

“Dean,” Sam hissed over his breakfast, trying to be quiet though he hardly needed to in the loud 50’s style diner. “Stop staring.”

“They’re so pregnant,” Dean whispered, chewing slowly on a piece of bacon—bacon was, thankfully, unchanged in this universe. He was completely mesmerized by a woman and two men a few tables over who were chatting lightly over brunch, their stomachs bulging, stretching their shirts around their middle. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said hushedly, pursing his lips and flipping a page from one of the library books he had stacked neatly by the salt and pepper shaker. “I know. I can see them. But _seriously, stop staring_.”

Dean swivelled his eyes back to his brother, who was flashing him #42 bitch-face. “Please tell me you found something in these books. I...I need to understand what the hell kinda world we’re in.”

“I did. Get this,” Sam said, setting down the forkful of lentil salad back onto his plate and pushing hair behind his ears. He flipped the book over for a moment to glance at the cover. “In _Anatomy of the Sexes: A Grade 10 Biological Summary_ , the author writes about three primary sexes: alpha, beta, omega.”

“Ding, ding, and ding,” Dean said, twirling his fork in the air before he speared it through a home fry and popped it into his mouth. “Jackpot.”

Sam began to read; “ _The alpha sex is considered to be the most dominant of the three classes, typically categorized as the superior sex as they are often carriers of sperm and boast the penetrative genitalia meant to impregnate their true mates. True mates are comprised of those of the beta and omega sex. During coitus, the base of the penetrative sex organ expands in what is referred to as a ‘knot’ inside the receptive canal to facilitate implantation.”_

Dean stopped chewing and put down his fork, staring at Sam in horror. “What the fuck?”

Dean went silent when Sam powered on, though his brows were knit together in distaste. “ _Omega born humans are…”_

Sam paused.

Dean bristled. “What?”

“ _Omegas born humans are,_ ” Sam continued, his lips twisted bitterly, “ _lesser and ranked lowest on both the biological and societal spectrum, although it is important to note that they are cornerstones to a healthy population as they exist solely to carry the children of alphas and betas. Their genitalia act as receptacles for implantation and subsequent gestation of a fetus. It is within their canal that a knot is received, and it is within the womb that children grow once implantation is successful._

_The beta sex is the neutral of all three. They are able to both inseminate omegas and be impregnated by alphas, as they present genital features of both omegas and alphas combined; child-bearing womb and penetrative genitalia, respectively. Personality types vary in betas and they are considered to be suitable mates for any sex, making them ideal matches in today’s society.”_

Dean pushed away his plate. “I’ve heard enough. What the fuck? ‘Dominant sex’? ‘Superior’? ‘Lesser’?” He shook his head, feeling his stomach turn. “What kind of fucked up shit is this? Chuck _made_ thisuniverse? Shit, he was more messed up than we thought.”

Sam nodded in agreement, flipping pages and pursing his lips at questionable diagrams. “Yeah, the author isn’t... _nice_ about omegas in particular. He seems to, uh, think they’re like, sub-human.”

“ _‘Receptacles for implantation?’_ ” Dean quoted, feeling his breakfast come back up and leave a lump in his throat.

The lines around Sam’s eyes deepen and he nodded, “Yeah. It’s pretty horrible. This all seems incredibly sexist. Or prejudiced. Or…whatever the word is. It’s just pretty shitty. I feel gross just reading it.” Sam threw the old, faded textbook on top of his pile of books and pushed his hair back, running his fingers through it, a tell-tale sign that Sam was annoyed. “How can anyone call this a textbook? This hardly reads like objective biology or science. It’s more like some old sexist dude telling people how to live.”

“Some old uncle telling people what they are and what their purpose is because of their junk,” Dean murmured, shaking his head. He picked up his fork but found his appetite nearly zero. Pushing egg around on his plate, Dean muttered, “This world sucks. I wanna go home.”

Sam made a noise in his throat of agreement, but then he added, “Well, Chuck may’ve tried to fix some shit since he made this universe, but it’s not like our world doesn’t have problems.”

“You’re right.” With a sigh, Dean set down his fork, giving up, and wiped at his mouth with his napkin, jerking a finger at the stack of books beside Sam. “What else do you got? I’ll help research, but give me something written by someone who is less of a dickbag.”

His eyebrows flicking up his forehead, Sam almost seemed apologetic as he tilted his head and read the spines from his haul. “ _A History of the Omega’s Plight for Equality’,_ ‘ _Heaven and Hell: The Global Disaster of 2010-2011’, ‘Angels: Sent from Hell-A Historian’s Retelling of the 2010-2011 Reign of Destruction',_ and _‘Angelic & Satanic Wards: A Dummy’s Guide to Protecting Yourself from the Supernatural’. _Take your pick. _”_

Dean clasped his hands on the table and glared at his orange juice. “I fucking hate this world, Sammy. I really hate it.”

“It’s not great,” Sam muttered as he reached back into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Ready to head out? We’ll bring these back to the apartment and read ‘em there.”

Dean nodded and picked up his jacket from the red plush seat beside him, slipping it over his arms as he said, “I’m in. I wanna check on Cas, too. He looked worse this morning.”

They’d woken to find Cas sitting at the window on a chair dragged in from the kitchen, staring out into the night with a weird shine to his eyes. Sweat rolled down his face and soaked into the back of the white shirt down his spine. He’d said he felt fine, just warm, but there was a strange feverishness to his eyes that’d concerned Dean. 

Strangely, he’d felt an overwhelming, tingling urge to stay with Cas, to make sure he was okay, to touch him just to see what happened, to see if Cas would let him or if he’d push him away, but Sam had tugged him out the door, murmuring something about grief and stress response.

“I think Jack is hitting him hard,” said Sam as he threw money onto the table and slid out of the booth, following Dean towards the door.

“Dunno,” Dean sighed as they stepped out into the busy city street, blending into a crowd of people as commuters bustled off on their lunch breaks or waited for the bus. Sliding his hands into his pockets, Dean shrugged. “Well, I mean, yeah. Losing Jack… It’s fucked, Sam. It’s all fucked. That...that _kid_ killed Mom, and I half-hate him for it but when it came down to it, I couldn’t pull the trigger. And he meant a lot to Cas, maybe even more than he meant to us, as shitty as it sounds.”

“Jack was our kid,” Sam said firmly, but when Dean looked over, Sam’s eyes on the pavement held no malice. After a moment, Sam’s brows softened and he admitted, “But, yeah, Cas was more of a dad to him than we were. Cas really took care of him like they were blood. Cas…” Sam adjusted the pile of books in his arms. “Cas never doubted him like we did. He always made Jack feel loved.”

Cas had never tried to lock Jack in what was essentially a coffin, never _truly_ doubted him, or turned his back on him. Cas _believed_ in Jack, and was everything to Jack in a way that John had never been to Dean or Sam. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his stomach aching, his shoulders curling in against the cold mid-morning air, “guess you’re right.”

They had to walk for twenty minutes through the busy downtown core to get back to their dingy neighbourhood—what seemed to be the “bad part of town”, if they could go off of the opinion of those they asked directions from. The library had been in the center of the city beside City Hall, a large hunk of grey cement with a few windows and skating rink out front. If it wasn’t for the incredible violence they’d been thrown into the day before, there was no way they would’ve known the world was kinda totally fucked. That was, except for the angel warding and anti-demon sigils displayed on nearly every doorway and billboard. Dean even spotted a few people with visible anti-possession tattoos, and he could’ve sworn they walked by a memorial park dedicated to ‘those lost in the 2010 Satanic Battle of Main St.’. 

The weirdest thing was still the sheer amount of pregnant people walking around—male, female, and everyone in-between, though Dean was starting to suspect that gender roles and the sexes he was used to back in his world meant nothing here. He wanted to know more about this world but was certainly put off by the sexist, elitist bullshit Sam had recited to him from that textbook earlier. 

Ultimately, it wouldn’t matter because he was getting their asses out of the universe. He was gonna find a way to rip open a goddamn portal, even if he had to do it with a butterknife, and he was gonna bring Jack back from the dead so Cas wouldn’t have that fucking haunted look in his eyes anymore.

Sam and Dean stopped only to pick up food, clothes, and toiletries from a bite-sized Walmart—the seemingly only perk to this stupid world—because even if they didn’t have A/C or electricity, they had running water and they both needed showers. Sam was still wearing the bloody clothes from yesterday. That’d earned them a few odd looks on the bus ride home, though Sam hardly noticed with his nose stuck right in that biology book again, his face twisted in disturbed fascination.

“Cas?” Dean called out when they arrived in ‘their’ shitty apartment, swinging a few bags onto the floor. “We got some clothes and boring human shit, but Sam found books for… Cas? Hello?”

Sam, who’d shuffled into the dark, windowless kitchen to unpack the cans of food from their grocery haul, popped his head out from the shadows and narrowed his eyes. “Is he not in that weird other room? Did… Did he _leave?_ ”

“No,” Dean said gruffly, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders and trying not to feel like there was something off. As soon as he’d passed the threshold of the apartment where Cas had been cooped up since last night, he felt a strange heat blow over his skin. Unsure how to explain how temperature was connected to scent, he just _knew_ the sensation was triggered by the smell of the apartment, the smell like a thunderstorm crackling making him feel excited and nervous all at the same time. 

Despite the fact that Cas hadn’t answered him, Dean just knew he was here. 

He knew that smell was Cas. 

The hair on his arms and neck standing like he was about to get struck by lightning, Dean suddenly couldn’t care less about Sam’s presence and zeroed in on the room farthest from the door, his feet carrying him there in a blink of an eye like he’d lost time travelling there.

“Cas?” Dean called out again, striding into the bedroom with purpose, only to find Cas wasn’t there. The smell was stronger there, delicious. Swallowing thickly, his skin tingling, Dean pushed open the bathroom door like it was his first day on Planet Earth and no one had ever taught him to knock.

Cas raised his head from his hands, his face a shining, blotchy mess, his eyes glossy and so blue Dean thought he might fall into them like he was wading into tropical water—hot and electric. Those pupils were so constricted that Dean had to lean in close to see the tiny pin-prick of black. Cas’ hair was a mess from where he’d been gripping it tightly. He was seated on the edge of the crappy, dirty tub and his legs were bouncing, one of his arms wrapped around his middle.

“Cas?” Dean asked, quieter. He stepped onto the grimy off-white tiles and lowered himself to his knees in front of Cas, who looked _very_ unwell. “Hey, bud, you all right?”

Cas’ fingers tightened in his shirt and his other hand fumbled to grasp at the sink above Dean’s shoulder. Through his teeth, Cas wheezed, “Something is wrong. I’m different. I’m _different here._ ”

Dean watched a bead of sweat tumble down the side of Cas’ face and leaned forward, his tongue dipping out to run over his bottom lip. “T-Talk to me, what’s going on?”

He reached up to touch Cas’ face, his hands fucking _shaking_ for some reason, his nose burning with the smell of rain and roaring black clouds of thunder—

Before his hand could touch Cas’ skin, Sam was in the room, his hand-clapping against the doorway. “Cas? Jesus, what the—”

Jogged out of the strange moment, Dean looked over his shoulder, and saw Sam cough, running his hand under his nose. 

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Sam asked, his voice tight. “Fuck, this apartment is so damn humid and gross. First thing tomorrow, we find another one… Cas? Hey, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

Cas shook his head, damp hair flopping against his forehead. “No,” he choked out, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, his red, shining bottom lip, swollen and—

Sam stepped into the room, for some reason making Dean feel intensely uncomfortable. Dean wanted Sam to _get out_.

“Back the fuck up,” Dean snapped, a jolt of something in his gut making him feel ansty. “Give him room.” 

“It’s hard to breathe,” Cas admittedly thinly, his inhales audibly wheezing, his chest rising and falling quickly. “I-I think I feel nauseous. _Something_ inside me feels burdened. I-I’m overheating and nothing is helping. This entire apartment feels too small. I...”

Overwhelmingly wanting to _help_ , Dean’s fingers pressed against Cas’ forehead to feel for fever, prompting a flicker of fear that flashed behind Cas’ eyes and he jerked away, glancing up frightfully at Sam before he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

“What hurts?” Sam pressed, ignoring Dean’s request to put some space between them. 

Immediately, Dean turned and rose to his feet, crowding Sam and growling through bared teeth, “Step off, Sam. I said _give him room_.”

Different varieties of confusion shuddered over Sam’s features, but he heeded Dean’s orders this time, stepping back over the threshold into the bedroom. They stared at each other and Dean realized he was out of breath, his fingertips tingling, his ears loud with the sound of his own rushing blood.

“Give...him room,” Dean repeated, reaching up to rub his clammy palm over his mouth, hoping to calm down because _what the fuck_ , but feeling entirely unable and unwanting to.

Sam’s eyes slowly drifted over to Cas, a strange, slow look of understanding settling on his face. With wide eyes, Sam asked quietly, “You feeling feverish, Cas? Are...um, you experiencing muscle pains? Chills?”

“He doesn’t have the damn flu, Sam!” Dean barked.

But behind him, Cas rasped, “Yes. Worse since this morning. I-I can barely think. My...my brain feels like it’s in a fog. All I can think about is…”

The sound of Cas’ teeth clicking together was audible, and Dean didn’t quite understand what was going on, but Sam’s face drained of colour quickly. When Dean turned around to look at Cas, the angel was staring at Sam with a similarly knowing expression.

“You’re different in this universe,” Sam stated. “You’re...different.”

“Yes.” Cas nodded, swallowing repeatedly before he added, “I...don’t know how to explain it, I-I don’t have… I-I have…”

“Do not touch each other,” Sam instructed, seeming to have been jolted back to life from his horrified trance. He pointed at Dean and ordered firmly, “Stay here and make sure he’s okay, but do not touch him, got it? I know what’s going on and I think I know what to do.”

Through the possessive haze of anger, a sliver of confusion opened up and Dean paused, stepping out after Sam as his brother turned on his heel and walked away towards the front door with determination. 

Swinging around the doorframe to watch Sam’s retreating back, Dean called out, “What?! You not gonna tell me what’s going on or—”

“Don’t make me fucking say it out loud!” Sam barked as he snatched his coat from the back of a chair, shoving his arms into it furiously. “The smell makes sense now, _ugh,_ fuck. I can _taste_ it. Like in my fuckin’ _mouth,_ ugh! Just… Just stay in another room but make sure Cas doesn’t pass out and smack his head off the sink or something. I’ll be back in, like, half an hour!”

Normally, he would follow Sam, demand to have answers. But with Sam gone, Dean realised the _distraction_ was gone. Something in his subconscious whispered, _you’re alone now,_ as if that meant anything. But it must’ve meant something because…

Dean turned back around and he saw Cas staring at him, eyes so blue they looked like electric marbles, emphasized that much more by a dazed glaze across them and the patchy, flushed skin of his cheeks.

He gulped.

“We got running water, right?” Dean asked tightly.

Cas nodded quickly. 

Dean stepped into the room and gestured to the shower. “If you’re burning up, we should get you under some cold water. Come on, dude, you don’t look so…”

Hot. He was going to say ‘hot’ but that’d be wrong. Dean would be lying. 

Cas had looked like this before in Dean’s most private dreams, ruined and broken as he’d fucked Dean. So many times Dean had looked at that face, the same bottom lip red and worried by shining white teeth as they’d had sex in every position his depraved mind could come up with while he slept.

Dean tried never to acknowledge those dreams when he woke up, but sometimes when Sam wasn’t around and Cas wasn’t looking, Dean let himself yearn. He let himself wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d taken Cas in the back of the Impala and not Anna. What would have happened between them?

If he’d saved him from the water after the Leviathans, or never had left him behind in the asylum after Cas had saved Sam. If he’d said something different than “I need you” in the crypt, and if he reached out and slid his hand around the back of Cas’ neck in the Impala, if he’d pulled him in for a kiss and never let him go inside his boss’ house to be attacked by a rit zien. 

If he’d listened to Cas about Jack, and told him how he really felt about having a son with him.

“You don’t look so good,” Dean rumbled gruffly, leaning over Cas and turning on the shower. It sputtered and for a moment he thought it wasn’t going to work, but then frigid water sprayed onto his hand and Dean was happy they were using this stupid contraption to lower Cas’ fever, and not because they wanted the comfort of a nice shower. It was nearly ice. 

“Come on,” Dean said, lowering himself onto his heels in front of Cas, his knees bumping the insides of Cas’ feet. Curling his fingers, he muttered, “Let me help you take this off, we gotta cool you down.”

Again, a look of fear flashed across Cas’ face, but he nodded, a bead of sweat dripping off a damp brown lock of hair at his temple and landing on Dean’s forearm where he’d rolled up his plaid sleeves.

As the droplet rolled down Dean’s skin, his balls tightened up into his body and heat swirled around the base of his cock, pushing up to the tip as his cock seemed to instantly swell. Abruptly, Dean gasped and hunched over for a second, feeling shocked, horrified, and, frankly, winded.

“What the fuck—” he choked out, pressing a hand to his thighs and giving his head a strong shake. 

“Dean?” Cas asked, his voice rough and broken. “What’s wrong?”

Unable to form words that made sense about what the hell was happening, Dean raised his head and replied quickly, “Nothing. Nothing, come on, let’s just…”

He hoped Cas couldn’t see the outline of his dick in his jeans and tried to distract him by gesturing to the top buttons of Cas’ white shirt. Cas squeezed his eyes shut and Dean watched his lips press into a tight line. Dean felt cool, careful breaths against his face when Cas exhaled through a pinhole.

“It’s so warm in here,” Cas huffed out after his attempts at calming breaths failed.

Dean raised himself up on his knees to get on eye-level with Cas, and he started unbuttoning Cas’ shirt with shaking hands— _why the fuck were his hands shaking._

But as Cas’ white cotton fell open with every button unwoven from the holes of his shirt, Dean’s nose filled with the scent of rain and lightning, that clean, powerful smell that was _so good_ —

“Fuck,” was all Dean managed to choke out before his hands flew up to Cas’ face, before Cas was sliding off the edge of the tub and into Dean’s lap. What made sense didn’t matter anymore, and all the feelings Dean’ had repressed for years surged up like the glass ceiling imprisoning them had shattered. 

His hands clawed at Cas’ face and curled around his back, pawing at the damp shirt and slipping over the sweat-slicked stubble just before their lips were crashing together, faces pressed so tightly they’d probably bruise.

Cas’ hands, hot like fire, clawed at Dean’s shoulders and pulled at his hair, and he kissed like he was drowning, all raspy gasps and choked moans. Under Dean’s hand, Cas’ slick muscles slid smoothly as he rolled his hips, rubbing the damp crotch of his pants over the insatiable pressure in Dean’s jeans. Dean was so intoxicated with _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas_ that he didn’t question it, he only felt more dizzy with need from the overwhelming heat radiating from between Cas’ legs, his own body absorbing it and converting it to leaking precum and a moan that vibrated against their mouths.

They grasped at each other, hips rolling and neither pausing to question what was happening, or why, or making any moves to stop it, to try to make sense of anything. If he was thinking straight, if his vision wasn’t tunnelled in on Cas and how to touch him _more_ and taste him _more,_ he might’ve yanked himself away, stumbled back, tried to place blame on something for this, tried to make excuses or make up lies about how he didn’t want this, how he didn’t want Cas…

But his instincts—something savage and animalistic—roared in his ears over the sound of his rushing blood and the pounding of the shower, screaming at him, “ _This is everything you ever wanted, you haven’t ever desired anyone else like you desire him, like you lo—”_

Buttons skipped over the floor, bouncing on the dirty tile and rolling until they clinked into the rotted baseboards after Cas—or was it Dean?—ripped Cas’ shirt clean open, tearing the white shirt that Cas had always kept so pristine. The second the flushed skin of Cas’ chest was exposed, Dean dragged red trails into his neck and down into the soft dip of his shoulder until his teeth sunk into Cas’ exposed throat.

They both moaned, and Dean didn’t think about how he just _bit_ Cas. All he thought was: _mine._

The mark he left behind was red and angry, but he hadn’t broken skin, so to soothe the mark Dean ran the flat of his tongue over it, pleased when Cas’ shuddered under him and breathed out a soft _“oh”._

“I’m d-different here,” Cas panted, his breaths puffing out in rasping wheezes. Dean wasn’t sure what he meant and he didn’t care. Cas could repeat that all he fucking wanted, but Cas looked like Cas to him, and he smelled like Cas, and he tasted exactly how Dean had always imagined Cas would taste. 

Energized by a rumbling, dark energy and overcome with lust, Dean growled and pulled Cas close for only a moment before he pushed up using his thighs and twisted them both around, falling forward until Cas’ back hit the floor and Dean was on top of him, kneeled between Cas’ legs. He yanked his own shirt up over his head and threw it aside, wanting, yearning, desiring skin-to-skin contact. 

He got it without asking when Cas hands came up and ran over his stomach, leaving his own red trails over Dean’s skin, which had suddenly started to perspire like whatever fever Cas had was in him now, burning him alive from the inside out.

“I-I can’t stop,” Dean choked out, like the rational part of him had broken free for a moment, trying to warn Cas that he was overcome and out of control.

“I know,” Cas rasped, and Dean saw that flash of fear across his eyes, but Cas’ hand reached towards him anyway and they linked fingers. Despite the hunger, Dean wanted to stop because if Cas wasn’t into it, he _needed_ to stop, but quickly, as Cas’ shaking free hand began to fumble with the zipper of his own pants, ripping at them blindly, his eyes locked on Dean’s. Dean realized that Cas wasn’t scared of _him_ , he was scared of himself. “I _need_ this, Dean. I n-need you, your touch. It’s…”

Cas’ words were swallowed in a moan as his hand worked between his own legs, rubbing and making the sharp lump of his Adam’s apple bob under a rivulet of sweat. Dean watched and couldn’t help but whimper, his vision blurring around the edges with the same mantra of _Cas, Cas, Cas_ booming in his ears. 

“What’s happening?” Dean breathed, his voice shaking, but his hand reaching out regardless, his thumb sweeping over Cas’ bottom lip and dipping into his mouth. 

Cas’ shining pink tongue swirled around Dean’s thumb and sucked on it, pulling him into his obscenely hot, wet mouth, erasing the rational part of Dean that was _trying_ to break through the fog of this hot desire. 

Dean’s resolve collapsed and he gave in. 

With a strength he didn’t know he had, Dean growled like an animal. He looped Cas’ waist with his arm and grabbed the material of his trousers behind his thighs, yanking them both to their feet in a smooth move that he wasn’t entirely sure how he pulled off. But they were on their feet and Dean was reaching behind Cas with aggression, slamming the door of the bathroom closed so hard the mirror on the wall rattled. With equal smoothness, he shoved Cas back against the door and crowded into his personal space, capturing his lips because they _belonged_ _to him,_ and he blindly slid his hands down the side of Cas' hips, yanking down his pants with a thrumming viciousness.

“D-Dean,” Cas gasped. “I’m—”

Dean’s hand, after it slid under the waistband of Cas’ briefs, came to an abrupt stop.

Cas’ cock was soft, but that wasn’t what stopped Dean. What stopped him was the lack of the more familiar anatomy. The way his hand had dragged over slick, thick wetness… The way his hand had kept sliding back and brushed through smooth folds and…

“You’re different here,” Dean breathed against Cas’ mouth, and their wide eyes stayed locked, realization washing over Dean like he’d been suddenly shoved under the spray of the freezing shower water behind them.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Cas had been trying to tell Dean. He’d tried. But what words could he use to describe the slit behind Cas’ cock, and the way it was so fucking hot and wet? Dean couldn’t come up with the right words, either. He was one knuckle deep in this slit and he wanted to ask so many questions but it was like as soon as his fingers touched this new part of Cas, his brain fogged over.

Unsure of how they got to where they were, Dean felt like he blacked out for a moment because the next thing he knew, Cas was ripping open the buttons of Dean’s jeans, and yanking them down just enough to free Dean’s aching, leaking cock. He only pulled his trembling hands away when Dean shoved him back against the door again with a flat hand on his chest and pulled his switchblade from his jean pocket. Snapping it open, he slid the blade through the waistband of Cas’ briefs, making it easy to tear them off and throwing them aside. 

The knife clattered to the floor beside the ruined, torn pile of Cas’ shirt and underwear. 

After Cas stepped out of the black pants around his feet, Dean grabbed him by the waist again, turning them, and they stumbled a few steps until the back of Cas’ thighs hit the edge of the sink. With a shared grunt from them both, Dean hauled Cas onto the edge of the sink and Cas’ strongly muscled thighs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass.

“What are we doing?” Dean panted against Cas’ lips after they spent a few moments kissing violently, mouths slipping against each other, lips red from hungry bites. 

Their sweaty foreheads pressed together. 

“I don’t know,” Cas replied breathlessly, their chests and shoulders heaving. 

“Fuck it,” Dean growled, yanking Cas close, his nails digging into the skin of Cas’ clinging leg. His other hand came up and pressed into the mirror above the sink behind Cas’ shoulders. As he sunk his cock deep into Cas' new wet slit, sliding in so easily it was scary, fog spread across the mirror from Dean’s hand.

The rest was a blur.

Intoxicated and entranced by the wet, so-fucking-tight heat around his cock, Dean fucked Cas so hard the rickety sink slammed into the wall and the steel piping squeaked under them. Their flesh clapped together and while Cas’ cock stayed soft, wilted to the side and forgotten, Cas was clearly enjoying himself, completely given into the pull of _something_ between them. His eyes never left Dean’s unless they were kissing, lips slipping against each others’ or their tongues sliding into each other's mouths, exploring and often fighting for dominion. Dean would’ve been frightened he was hurting Cas if he had any kind of self-control or if Cas seemed to be in pain, but Cas was straight-up moaning, dirty, filthy, ragged and desperate. He accepted Dean’s erratic, aggressive thrusts with matching snaps of his hips and he ground himself into Dean, shuddering and shaking as he held him close, resting his forehead against Dean’s neck.

The bathroom echoed with the sounds of the freezing cold water beating down on the old tub, their throaty moans, the squeaking of the sink, and the slick, wet noises of hard fucking. 

He wasn’t sure how long they fucked for but Dean never wanted it to end. The burning heat inside his entire body was delicious, and the steaming heat from Cas pulsed between them. And it was building, rising to a crescendo before Dean could stop it. He felt it in Cas first, curling together into a coil before it fucking exploded.

“Oh. _Oh,”_ was all that Cas managed, and Dean saw it in his face as Cas’ swollen, slick lips parted and his eyes pinched at the corners. The electric blue of his eyes were all-encompassing between wet, dark brown lashes, before in a blink, Dean watched Cas’ irises dilated completely like a lens contracting and opening, the blue nothing but a silver lining around blackness and then—

Cas tipped his head back against the fogged mirror, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, one final silent _“oh”_ curling his lips into an ‘o’ before he came. 

For a moment, Dean thought they’d broken the sink when hot liquid poured over the edge of the porcelain and all down their legs, but quickly Dean realized Cas had come and Dean’s thrusting cock was fucking into the slit that poured clear liquid all around him, gushing down Cas’ legs and soaking into Dean’s jeans. 

“Fuck,” Dean rasped hoarsely, too bewitched to question or care, and then he was coming, too. The orgasm hit him like a train, like a brick to the head. Like the heat that’d been ruminating inside him exploded.

Except when he shoved his hips forward and pushed himself deep in Cas, wanting to never be away from him again, wanting to never break apart, he didn’t anticipate not being able to pull himself back out.

He felt a strange swelling, a rushing of pressure, of tightness—

Dean pulled his hips back and was horrified to realize Cas had been yanked off the edge of the sink, their hips fuzed together. Cas hissed in pain and his hands scrambled back to grab the sink, to regain his balance in the midst of coming back down from whatever the fuck just happened between them.

Cas looked pissed. “What are y—”

“Oh my God,” Dean whispered, still shaking from his on-going orgasm as it shook through him, centralizing in his pelvis, rumbling to the tip of his cock where he could feel come pumping out of him in waves. 

After shuffling forward so Cas was seated on the sink again, Dean reached down between them and tried to separate them, but his cock was...still...coming. It was...

“I’m _stuck_ ,” Dean whispered, horror fighting the physical sensation of pleasure. “I’m fucking _stuck_.”

Cas’ beautifully wrecked face twisted in confusion, but as Dean’s cock thrummed again, swelling and pulsing, Cas whimpered. “You’re still…”

“I can’t pull out,” Dean whispered, feeling the bubbling rise of panic in his chest. “It’s…”

He could feel it, the way the base of his cock had swollen to a size he didn’t understand. He...he was locked inside Cas, still pumping come, still buried deep.

For the first time since last night, Cas’ eyes were clear and his skin was losing that shining quality, the sweat cooling on his skin. He seemed to be returning back to normal, while Dean was growing hot, though he was unsure if it was the trance or the sheer panic over the thought that he’d had an allergic reaction to something, and he and Cas were locked together by their genitals.

“DEAN? CAS?”

Dean’s head snapped up—he and Cas locked eyes as Sam’s voice travelled through the door, far away, like he’d just walked into the apartment.

“Get _out_ ,” Cas growled at Dean, pushing at his chest.

“I _can’t,”_ Dean whispered furiously, his legs still shaking through his orgasm that wouldn’t end.

“Sam is coming,” Cas hissed, pushing again.

 _No_ , Dean thought pissily, _I’m still coming._

But luckily, as footsteps clunked slowly through the apartment, Dean felt pressure drain away, the last pulse of his cock, and he slid out, stumbling back by force of Cas’ palm urging him away. The second his back hit the opposite wall, Cas lowered shaking legs onto the floor and he snatched up his discarded briefs, wiping himself down, pulling away the dribbles of what must’ve been his come from his legs. 

Dean was sent into a frenzy, too, spinning on his heel and hunting down his abandoned t-shirt as Cas found and put on his pants frantically.

Sam knocked on the door and they both froze, Dean’s eyes wide and his face feeling drained of colour while Cas’ jaw jumped. Snatching his shirt from the floor, Cas sprung back into action, shoving his arms into the armholes. 

“Is that the shower? Cas, is Dean still here?”

“I’m in here, Sam,” Dean called out before Sam could come barreling in. “Cas is cooling off in the shower, I’m just chilling to make sure he doesn’t faint and smack his head off the sink.”

Cas looked relieved with that explanation, his shaking hands doing up the top buttons of his shirt, since the lower few had been ripped clean off, leaving behind wispy torn bundles of thread.

“Is he okay?” Sam asked, his voice muffled. “You didn’t…touch him, right?”

Dean pointed at the shower and whispered to Cas, “Get in there.”

Cas glanced down at his state of dress and scowled, beginning to undo the buttons again, shuffling around Dean to step into the shower. As he pulled the shitty curtains closed behind him, Dean stepped towards the door and wiped at his face, the cooling sweat on his skin having dampened his hair, too. 

Opening the door, Dean was face-to-face with Sam, who was staring at him with his brows furrowed.

“Sup?” Dean asked, nodding.

Sam scowled. “Why are you _wet_?”

Dean shrugged. “The showerhead was, uh, pointing outwards when I turned it on like an idiot. Didn’t even check.”

Sam glanced around the bathroom—which Dean now noticed with a rush of embarrassment—was as foggy as the mirror. “Good to know we got hot shower,” Sam mused casually.

Dean hoped desperately that he didn’t look as red in the face as he felt. The water Cas was under was surely freezing, and he didn’t know how to tell Sam that the condensation dripping off the walls and leaving droplets all over the porcelain had nothing to do with a ‘hot shower’. It had everything to do with the heat of their fevered bodies rutting against each other and their heavy, unsteady panting.

“He’s good now, I think,” Dean said with a clearing of his throat, and he gestured back out into the bedroom. “Didn’t smack his head off nothin’, so I think we’re good to give him a sec. Cas, you good?”

“I’m fine!” Cas called from behind the curtain. “I feel much better.”

Sam looked as relieved as Dean felt when he stepped back to let Dean enter the living room. Thankfully Sam didn’t try to pull a fast one to get in the bathroom when Dean closed the door behind him. 

As Dean dropped down onto the couch, his mind whirling, the consequences of what had just happened all dropping into his brain like bombs, Sam dropped down beside him and rifled through a white plastic bag in his hands.

“I think I know what’s up with Cas,” Sam said, and Dean noted that Sam had that nerdy look in his eye that he got when ‘the lore made sense.’

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked casually, though he felt like running back into the bathroom and throwing up because _he’d just fucked Cas like a wild animal_ and...Cas had let him. “Enlighten me.”

“Cas is an omega,” Sam whispered, shifting to face Dean, pulling a familiar small white and red box from the bag to wiggle in the air. Pills rattled inside the bottle, and Dean swallowed hard.

“You don’t say,” he breathed, remembering the image of his cock sliding into a willing and wanting flushed slit behind Cas’ dick. He recalled the way it shone, dripping with clear, thick wetness that smelled so delicious. Like the smell of the damp earth, the smell before the rain. 

“How’d you figure?” Dean rasped, rubbing at his throat as he remembered Cas’ teeth dragging down it, and felt the sweat drying there. God, he’d felt so warm in that bathroom, like he’d been the one with the fever, like he’d been the one burning up...

“He’s in heat,” Sam said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom door that was still closed as Cas washed away his fever and the come dripping down the inside of his legs. Dean’s come, too, probably.

Dean paused, though, finally registering what Sam was saying once he’d given his head a firm shake to get rid of sinful thoughts he didn’t deserve to enjoy. “He’s in _what_?”

Sam gave the bottle another shake. “Omegas go into heat like...like periods. Once a month, for a few days they get, like, really horny. The only way to cope,” Sam said, wincing like the taste of the words on his tongue were vile, “is if someone— _specifically_ an alpha—has sex with them on and off for _days_. And the heat can’t be stopped prematurely unless their true-mate impregnates them. Isn’t that messed up?”

Dean went still, forgetting to breathe.

_“It’s not proper, you know, to walk around unmated at your age, surrounded by two unmated alphas. People will question the nature of it all.”_

One of Dean’s shaking hands reached up and he pressed his fingertips to his lips, his chin tilted down. Throwing up, it seemed, was quite a real possibility.

“A heat,” Dean murmured.

The shower stopped behind the bathroom door.

Sam got up, disappearing into the living room. Dean heard more bags rustling and Sam returned with a towel and clothing they’d bought earlier that morning. From the couch, Dean watched Sam walk over to the bathroom and open the door, only to set the clothing on the floor. “Cas,” Sam said loudly, “there’s clean clothes by the door.”

Cas said something gruffly, but Dean couldn’t hear it over the sound of his memories; moans, the squeaking of the sink, the slick sounds of fucking—

“A heat,” Dean whispered, eyes dropping to the floor, looking but not seeing.

_“It’s so warm in here...I need this, Dean. I n-need you, your touch, it’s…”_

_“What are we doing?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“...Fuck it.”_

“A heat,” Sam repeated, nodding as he settled back down beside Dean. From his peripherals, Dean just knew Sam’s eyebrows were knitted together and his lips curved down at the corners. “I read about it in a textbook today and I just...didn’t make the connection to Cas until we came back and he was worse. These pills—” He turned the box around in his hand—’ _Don’t Be Yourself, Be Beta’_ —and he hummed thoughtfully. “—are suppressants. They block omegas from secreting their usual hormones and mask them to make them appear beta.”

“Why would they want that?” Dean asked, his face feeling numb. 

_A heat._ Like a wild animal. Like a wild animal needing to be savagely fucked. Or a wild animal that wanted to savagely fuck someone else...

With his big, weird knot thing.

The couch groaned as Sam shifted on the lumpy couch. “So, apparently, people do this for a bunch of reasons; social injustice against omegas, birth control, and just plain not wanting anyone to know they’re unmated. I mean, while the world is ‘changing’—” Sam used air quotes. “—there are still sexual prejudices against omegas. They’re seen as weaker, less worthy. It’s all in that Omega Plight book I got.”

“Less nerd, more explanation, Hermione,” Dean snapped, his eyes narrowing.

Sam sighed. “They’re given low-income jobs, like retail or food services, or they’re thought to be more suited for nurturing roles like teaching and stuff. A lot of the time, they’re still looked at like they’re made only for breeding, just there to...to make babies and repopulate. It’s sick to think about, but a lot of them take suppressants because there’s a disproportionate rate of sexual assault against omegas. Loads of unplanned and unwanted pregnancies. They just...don’t want to get hurt. They don’t wanna be victims.”

_Receptacle for implantation._

Dean felt sick.

Sam sighed again, sliding his finger under the seal, ripping the cardboard and tugging out a small folded information manual. As his eyes scanned the tiny writing, he went on, explaining, “So a lot of omegas start taking the pills when they’re teenagers so they can go to college and have better opportunities. Some people take ‘em for _years_ and when they gotta go off of them for health reasons, they go into a...a super-heat.”

“And you think Cas went into a _super-heat_?” Dean murmured, pressing a hand to his stomach.

Sam’s hazel eyes flickered down to Dean’s hand with a deep twitch to his furrowed brow as concern swept over his face quickly. But ultimately, he just nodded. “Well, yeah. He’s never had a heat before, just like people who take the pills forever when they’re not supposed to. Usual heats are more sexual, I guess? They just make omegas get super horny and stay at home until it passes, but these super-heats are like...painful. Muscle cramps, fever, stomach pain, chills, sweats,” Sam listed, ticking at his fingertips. 

“Their body temperature rises dangerously high and usually they’ve gotta be admitted to the hospital to control it. I read all about it in the pamphlet we got from the drugstore,” Sam added, a nerdy hint of pride tangible in his tone. “But Cas is an angel, so I didn’t even think—”

“And if they fuck—y’know, if an a-an omega and their true mate, an alpha, uh, _do it_ —what happens?” Dean asked, trying with everything in him to push the rising bile down into his churning stomach. He recalled Cas’ skin returning to normal, the patchiness disappearing as he re-did the top buttons of his shirt, and the way the sweat on his skin seemed to cool right in front of Dean’s eyes, the slick shine turning into a dull clamminess that would surely be swept away with shower water. 

“Hm,” Sam pondered, shrugging as he threw aside the manual and began to turn the bottle in his hands, concentrating on reading the label. Absentmindedly, Sam murmured, “Usually in a regular heat their true-mate—it’s like soul mates, except they’re like, biologically meant to be or whatever—will smell them. They’ll smell like, stupidly good and then they’ll mark ‘em. Uh, man, this is so weird to talk to you about.”

Dean’s fingers on his lips turned to a full-on palm on his mouth. “What stops a super-heat?”

“You’ve seemed morally offended by all this alpha-omega crap, so you’re not gonna like the answer,” Sam pointed, grunting a bit as he twisted the child-proof lid on the bottle and raised it to his nose so he could sniff inside. “If they have sex during a super-heat and are marked, they’re essentially mated, and that’s usually good enough to slow down the really horrible side effects. But, I mean,” Sam huffed with bitter laughter, shaking a few pills into his hands, “if they get the omega pregnant, it stops altogether.”

Sam was too busy rolling a pill between his fingers and squinting at it with one eye to read the imprint to even notice Dean’s cold, drained face. 

The bathroom door opened and Cas stepped out in a black t-shirt, blue jeans, and a fresh towel rubbing at his hair. His skin was clean and even-toned. His eyes were their regular blue. He looked fresh.

He looked well.

He looked fine.

Noticing Cas, Sam held the bottle of suppressants out. “Cas, listen, I did some research and—”

Sam was cut off as Dean surged to his feet. Sam yanked his feet back just in time so Dean wouldn’t trip as he ran to the kitchen. With a hand on his stomach and a hand around the edge of the sink, Dean coughed and choked over the grimey aluminum for only a minute before the memory of his come pumping into Cas, filling him while was buried deep inside—

_During coitus, the base of the penetrative sex organ expands in what is referred to as a ‘knot’ inside the receptive canal to facilitate implantation._

—made Dean vomit into the sink. He gasped and sputtered to squeeze in a wheezing inhale between hard gagging, only to vomit again.

Cas had gone into heat, and Dean, intoxicated by it, had mated him. Claimed him. Marked him. 

They’d been so stupid. So drunk on each other. So fevered by each other's scents. 

What had they done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO! THEY DID THE THING.
> 
> Drop me a comment and don't forget to subscribe if you want notifications about new chapters posting.


	4. Somebody That You Used to Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup, y'all?
> 
> Today's chapter is a bit of a shortie, but a goodie! You'll know why I cut it off once you get to the end... (It's because I'm evil.)
> 
> Many thanks to the greatest people you'll ever meet and my two betas for this chapter: MalMuses & son_of_a_bitch_spn_family

Maybe they hadn’t done anything. 

Maybe they hadn’t true-pair-bonded or whatever. 

Maybe Cas was just coincidentally at the end of his super-heat when they’d fucked. 

Maybe they hadn’t… 

Dean stared up at the ceiling of the dingy apartment, completely awake. Beside him, lying opposite to him, with his feet near Dean’s head and his head by Dean’s feet, Sam snored quietly. 

Cas slept, too, curled up on the lumpy, dusty couch.

Angels didn’t need sleep, so that was concerning. Sam had said that Cas was probably recovering from his heat, and Dean wished Sam would stop talking about Cas in heat like he was some kind of dog.

After their talk, Sam had meant to get Cas to take the suppressants but that had been shoved to the wayside after Dean’s pukey escapades in the kitchen sink, of which Dean’d blamed new-world breakfast for his upset stomach and not the potentially terrifying repercussions of coming inside his now-fertile best friend-in-heat who hated him. 

By the time Sam returned with a bottle of water purchased from the small corner store across the street, Cas had laid down to recover from nearly being cooked from the inside out. Not wanting to wake him, muttering something about heat fatigue and ‘the smell’ that’d gone away mysteriously, Sam had rationalized that suppressants could wait until tomorrow.

They’d later come to regret that.

As Cas had napped and Sam and Dean researched this new world quietly in their respective corners with their phone flashlights pointed at the pages, Sam eventually fell asleep on his book while Dean laid the opposite way in bed. 

An anatomy book rested on his chest. Over a hundred pages into the thing and his mind was filled with nothing but knots, and heats, and true-mates, and scent-bonding, and that wet, pink slit that was charmingly called an ‘implantation fissure’. It was as if the old dudes writing the textbooks couldn’t bear for anyone to forget the hole was for baby-making.

With the street lamp as the only source of light in the room since nightfall, Dean turned his head and watched Cas snooze. Even with Cas’ back to him, Dean could tell he was in the dead of sleep, his shoulders rising and falling at a slow, steady pace but the rest of his body not having moved an inch since he’d laid down. 

What happened between them in the bathroom… Dean couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around it. 

It’d all happened too fast to control. And the truth was, if he felt nothing for Cas except for what the heat had made him feel, he’d have felt more traumatized, more violated. Of course, the lack of any control he’d had over his own judgement was certainly perturbing. The very concept of a heat and rut where no one had any control over themselves outside of a very savage, animalistic urge was unsettling. It vaguely reminded him of the need to kill that’d pumped through his veins in Hell and when he’d had the Mark of Cain burnt into his arm. But the thing he was most disturbed about was that...well, this world _knew_.

This world knew how he felt about Cas.

It knew about the depths of his heart, about the thoughts he hadn’t uttered to a single soul in his universe or this one. It knew about the reason for the ferocity of his relationship with Cas, the reasons he wanted him protected, safe, alive. It knew about the stirrings in his stomach when Cas was near and the flutter of his heart when Cas smiled or laughed. It knew why, when Cas left, when he was gone, when he died, Dean shut down. 

The way he felt about Cas had nothing to do with heats or pheromones or the smell before the rain. None of that existed in their universe and it hardly needed to, not when Dean already wanted to have Cas near, and he’d already been inside of Cas, their sweaty skin pressed together and their lips brushing in Dean’s sweetest dreams and most private thoughts.

And Cas hated him.

Dean had told him he was dead to him, and he’d disregarded Cas’ feelings and wishes, and he’d aimed a gun in between their kid’s eyes. 

Staring back at the ceiling, Dean swallowed with a loud click and tried to repress a burning at the corner of his eyes that he despised. 

Cas hated him. The way they’d held each other and kissed like they were starved...it probably disgusted Cas. Certainly, the way he’d growled _‘get out’_ as soon as the heat had been satisfied clearly indicated that Cas did not have a burning in his soul for Dean the way Dean did for him.

Or… Maybe he had? Once. Before. 

Dean had always thought there’d been _something_. 

Perhaps, he thought, raising a hand to wipe away wetness that dripped down his temple, he should’ve thought of that before he’d turned his back on Cas—

_BOOM!_

The bed shook and the book slid of Dean’s chest, slamming onto the floor with a thump. Sam shot up with a shocked gasp and Cas pushed himself onto his hip, eyes wide and alert, but puffy from sleep. Dust shuddered off the window sill, and through the musty panes Dean saw a flare and a flickering of orange. Through the glass from down on the streets, Dean heard screams and shouts.

“That is not good,” Dean growled.

The men all scrambled off to their feet and rushed over to the window. With a grunt, Sam lifted it open and they saw, clear now without the foggy grime on the window pane obstructing their vision, chaos in the street.

Below, a car just outside of their building had been set on fire, flames roaring from the windows and from under the hood. Pedestrians ran from the sight of angels and those masked militia battling in the streets again. Except instead of needlessly fighting, it became clear that the angels were making a marked attempt to enter their building and the masked fighters were defending, their guns shooting endlessly into the flock of suited warriors who brandished swords and recoiled bullets with blastwaves of grace firing from their palms. 

“COME OUT, OMEGA,” one of the angels roared from behind his fighters, his face tipped up towards their building. He pointed right at them with his blade.

Recognizing the angel, Dean, Sam, and Cas stepped away from the window, ducking to either side of the frame to hide.

“Uriel,” Cas gasped, his eyes wide like saucers, looking wild with his hair messy from sleep. Surely, it was a shock to him to see his old comrade alive. 

“He’s here,” Dean gulped out, feeling quite breathless himself. “Uriel is here. He exists in this universe, what the fuck?”

More screams, and when Dean poked his head to look back down into the street, he saw pedestrians falling face-first onto the pavement, or stumbling to their deaths on the sidewalk, their eyes burnt out.

“WE WILL KILL THEM ALL UNTIL YOU MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN, OMEGA ANGEL!”

More bullets. The militia was holding their own, but the angels were closing in on the entrance to the building.

“They want Cas,” Sam choked out, and Dean saw them exchange a look of dread.

“We can’t stay here,” Cas rasped, pushing off his heels and crossing the room, sweeping down to snatch up his trenchcoat from where it was bundled at the end of the couch. 

Watching Cas fumbling through it to retrieve his blade, Dean crowded him after sweeping the room in three quick strides. Grabbing his arm, Dean hissed, “Dude, no! We can’t _leave,_ you’re warded here!”

The room shook and dust crumbled from the ceiling. Cas jerked the fabric of his shirt from Dean’s grasp and threw aside the trenchcoat. With his eyes ablaze, he stepped into Dean’s space. “Do not call me dude after what we did.”

Stepping away and feeling a burning in his cheeks, Dean shook his head. “We can’t leave. They’ll take you. The angels here have mojo, Cas. They—”

“We gotta go!” Sam cried out, shocking Dean and Cas into turning towards him. “They’re gonna fuck this building up, get your stuff and let’s go!”

“What?” Dean asked, rushing back to the window. “We can’t just—”

His knees nearly buckled as looked outside in time to see a car levitated in the air, lifted magically by two angels with their arms bulging in their suit jackets. Dean had just enough time to hold on to the window frame as the car was thrown, rolling in the air towards the building and splitting the militia as they threw themselves aside to avoid the trajectory of the vehicle. The car crashed into the building and Dean avoided being swallowed by the cracking wall as Sam and Cas tugged him backwards. 

Dust and debris licked at their heels as they ran out of the apartment, and cold air whooshed past their faces as the warding broke. The second they were out in the hallway with their other panicking neighbours, Sam, Dean, and Cas all turned to each other. 

Breathing hard, Sam yelled, “We gotta get out of here. Without the warding, we’re out in the open and—”

Another crash and the floor seemed to shake. A woman holding a baby to her chest shrieked and scrambled back into her apartment, slamming the door behind her.

“We have to go before we put all of these people in further peril,” Cas ordered, not waiting for a consensus as he pushed through the doors to the dingy stairwell.

“Fuck,” Dean growled, wishing Cas would just _wait_ for them to make a decision, but knowing he’d done enough not listening to Cas, he followed.

Their footsteps thundered down the stairs, joined by other civilians who weren’t waiting for the building to collapse around them. As they got to the ground floor, Sam, Dean, and Cas ducked out of the way as civilians rushed out the emergency exit door. 

“Take this,” Sam ordered, passing Dean his hand-gun as he clicked the safety off his own. “I grabbed it. It-it won’t be so useful against angels but if those dudes with the bandanas get any ideas—”

“Shoot first, ask questions later,” Dean growled, checking his ammo and looking up at Cas, who was twisting the angel blade in his hand like he was on a mission. 

“Ready?” he asked Cas. “Don’t...Don’t get dead, okay?”

Cas eyes’ swept Dean’s face for a moment, then he nodded. “Of course. Same to you.”

“We run,” Sam said gruffly, walking between them to push open the door. “We only fight to get out of this mess, but we run until we can duck into a warded store. I’m faster so I’ll break the angel warding wherever we find shelter, and as soon as Cas is in, we’ll seal it again.”

“Sounds like a risky plan,” Dean pointed out, his eyes flickering from Sam’s face to his hand on the doorknob. “But I guess it’s all we got?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, looking between them. “It’s all we got, so...let’s go.”

The cold air rustled their hair and clothing as the two men and their angel stepped out into the street. The sounds of more molotovs being thrown into cars and pedestrians screaming echoed in the alleyway behind their building, loud and immediate.

The started to run, blending in with fleeing humans, but they didn’t get very far.

They’d been so close to escaping at the mouth of the alleyway, but Dean, Cas, and Sam had to slide to a stop, their panting coming out as curled clouds in front of their faces as there was a flash of light and three angels appeared before them, their swords brandished.

Uriel, Zachariah, and Naomi all stared at them. They looked as shocked as Dean felt.

“ _You,”_ Uriel breathed at Cas, his head tilting his face pinched. “ _You’re_ the omega we felt? How can this be?”

“And the _Winchesters_?!” Naomi choked out, gesturing to the boys. Her eyes were wide, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he saw fear in them. “How did you resurrect them? How…”

Naomi aside, Zachariah and Uriel were staring at Cas. Zachariah stepped forward, pointing at Cas with his blade, his sneer twisted with hatred. “How did you do this? How did you reverse the curse, you traitorous slug!? How could you do that and _hide_ it from your—”

“ZACHARIAH! YOU STAY AWAY FROM THAT OMEGA!” a woman shrieked from behind them.

Dean, Sam, and Cas spun around to find masked gunmen slowing from a run to stop, blocking their route backwards, about four of them forming a wall behind Dean, Sam, and Cas. Pedestrians frightened by the sight of the angels ran through the armed militia, back out towards the street on fire. Dean noticed, however, that the armed humans were pointing their guns at the angels, and not at them.

Except…

“ _Castiel?”_ the masked woman asked suddenly, her voice high and perplexed. Beside her, another woman with long red hair reached up and pulled her bandana off her face, revealing—

“ _Jo?_ ” Dean asked, entirely thrown to see the familiar face of the red-headed...angel? 

The woman seemed equally thrown to be called ‘Jo’. “What—”

Beside her, another woman reached up, too, revealing a mousy looking face with big blue eyes and a confused twist to her lips.

“Hannah?” Cas choked out, colour draining from his face. “You’re...You’re _alive_?”

Dean had no idea who the fuck Hannah was, but she seemed unable to tear her eyes from Cas, and Dean noticed her hesitate, looking over her shoulder at the street as more armed reinforcements ran towards them. In confusion, she looked back at Cas again, her eyes sweeping down his body.

“Castiel?” Her voice was lilted, her head tilting. “How—”

“ENOUGH OF THIS!” roared Zachariah.

Naomi’s voice was loud and clear, and almost desperate. “Look! His wings are broken, ravaged! Grab him!”

And before anyone could do a single thing, Naomi raised her palm. Dean and Sam were thrown off their feet, soaring through the air and colliding with the familiar masked angels only to knock most of them over like bowling pins.

There was the sound of swords clanging and a strangled choke of outrage, followed by a flash of light and then—

“ _CAS!_ ” Dean screamed as he pulled himself to his feet and the light faded away, leaving the spot where Cas and the suited angels stood entirely empty.

They’d captured him. They’d taken Cas.

“No!” Dean cried out, pushing off his heels and running to the mouth of the alley where the angels had been. Stumbling out onto the street behind the building, looking this way and that, Dean saw no trace of his angel, his mate.

His fingers fisted in his hair. “No. No, no, no…”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice called for his attention.

“They took him,” Dean said, turning on his heel to look at his brother, “They—”

All around Sam, members of the masked militia all began to reach up, pulling bandanas off their shocked faces, and they lowered their guns.

One by one, Dean began to register that he knew them. Not all of them, but most.

Rachel, Cas’ old lieutenant.

Jo. Inias. Samandriel, the kid from the Weiner Hut.

All the angels, they looked rugged and wild, but familiar. 

One man pushed through them, pausing only to squeeze Hannah’s shoulder. His gloved hand came up and pulled away the white cloth hiding his identity as he stood before the army of formerly-masked angels.

Sam stumbled back once the man had shown his face. “What the fu—”

It was Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter comes to you on Thursday after the next SPN episode! 
> 
> Until then, leave me a comment to tell me how evil this tiny chapter was. ;) The next one is a big one, so I'll be making it up to you.


	5. Nothing Like Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, lovely people!
> 
> WARNING: There are verbal threats of sexual violence in this chapter, and mentions of previous non-con. Read the tags as per usual and take care of yourselves. <3
> 
> Thanks so much for the beta efforts of son_of_a_bitch_spn_family and MalMuses again. <3 Y'all are the best.

“Cas?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse. 

Dean stood still, his heart pounding, his head feeling like it was spinning.

It was _Cas._

His hair was wilder, a bit longer, and he had the shadow of overgrown stubble on his jaw. He wielded a gun, not a blade, and he wore a bulletproof vest over dark clothing instead of a trenchcoat and blue tie, but fuck, it was him. It was _him_. 

Those blue eyes couldn’t belong to anyone else.

“Sam,” Castiel said in the same familiar rasp, his eyes flicking between them, although ultimately, he stared at Dean, entirely too many emotions flooding those usually stoic features. “ _Dean_.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” Dean demanded, his shaking legs somehow carrying him back over to Sam, grasping at his brother’s jacket so he wouldn’t collapse. With his gun, he gestured at Cas aggressively. “Who the fuck are you?”

Castiel’s furrowed brows twitched, but he merely said, “Castiel. You know me.”

“Of course I fucking know you!” Dean barked, his breath quick and shallow. He gestured behind him. “You were just standing over there, a-and then—”

“That wasn’t me,” Castiel interrupted bluntly, eyes glancing over Dean’s shoulder to where the angels had taken Cas. “The other one… Are you all from another timeline?”

Sam nodded when Dean couldn’t find anything to say that wasn’t a scream of frustration. “Yeah. Kinda. We’re from another universe.”

Castiel looked like he wanted to ask so many more questions, but he glanced around instead, seeming to take inventory of his people. Then he nodded and thrust a thumb over his shoulder, his free hand taking hold of his gun once again. “Come. The angels are gone for now, but best not to loiter. They may return. We’ll talk more in the truck.”

The angels all nodded to each other and turned to return to the street where the original chaos had begun. Fire from the exploded cars still roared, ripping the air at the end of the alley.

Dean didn’t follow initially, his mind spinning. They’d _taken Cas._ Cas was gone and—

“Come on, Dean,” Sam urged, tugging at his coat by his shoulder. “We won’t save Cas by hanging around here. Maybe these angels know how to get him back.”

“We’ve gotta get into Heaven,” Dean rasped, standing his ground. He felt traitorous tears stinging at his eyes. “We gotta save him. _Now_. You remember Zach and Uriel, they were cruel motherfuckers, they—”

Castiel, the doppelganger, doubled back and he stood behind Sam, rightfully giving them distance. “Come, Dean. It’s not safe. Sam is right; we can’t save your Castiel without a plan. Heaven is…” The familiar dry lips twisted bitterly. “Heaven is not as you may know it in your universe. Please...”

Dean looked down at the hand Castiel was extending to him; gloved, dirty. Bloody. The leather creaked as he curled his fingers. 

“Please.” Blue eyes went soft. “They’ll surely come back for you. In this universe, you’ve been dead for eleven years, and I won’t watch it happen again.”

***

While civilians were cleared from the chaotic area, except for the burnt corpses the suited angels had left in their wake, Dean let himself be led out into the street and was surprised to see nearly a dozen angels all crowded around a circus of black vans and trucks. When they saw him and Sam, they all turned and stared. They murmured amongst themselves, and only the angel named Hannah came forward, grasping Castiel’s arm and falling into step with them.

“The prophecy,” Hannah whispered to Castiel, her big blue eyes flickering to Sam and Dean. “Castiel, the _prophecy.”_

“I know,” Castiel rumbled, and Dean saw him flash her a smile before he placed a hand on the side of her head and gestured to the closest black van. “Drive, Hannah. We’ll get more information on the road.”

Dean’s hammering heart did not slow down, but he stood on his shaking legs regardless when Castiel let him go, striding with confidence and purpose towards the van, wrenching the passenger side open. After unlooping the strap of his gun from around his torso and throwing it into the seat, Castiel held onto the door and pointed at a dark-haired angel, who was staring at Dean and Sam in fear.

“Duma, take the Buick and burn it. Find another vehicle and meet us at homebase. Remember,” he said in warning, his lips pursing, “take the long way, and please get home in one piece.”

The rest of the angels stood at attention when Castiel addressed them. “The rest of you, follow us out of town, but have soldiers at the back, scouting for anyone who may attempt to follow us. Take them down as necessary and divert your path away from homebase until it’s safe to return.”

Beside him, Sam stood straight, too, perhaps out of habit, and he nodded when Castiel said, “Sam, Dean. Come with Hannah and I. We’ll keep you safe. We have somewhere we can take you that’s hidden and warded.”

What fucking choice did they have? Dean stared over his shoulder where they’d lost Cas, everything in him not wanting to leave, as if Cas was just going to reappear. But under the panic, he knew the best way to get Cas back from Heaven was to side with angels who knew this world better.

The angels all broke up, splitting into groups and jumping into their respective vehicles.

“You’re the ones attacking the angels?” Sam asked as he slid into the back, shifting all the way to the end so Dean had room to climb in. “ _You_ were fighting them yesterday when we got here?”

“Yes,” Castiel said matter of factly, turning completely in his seat and watching the boys put on their seatbelts. Beside him, Hannah turned on the ignition and drove them down the street. Glancing between his passengers, Castiel’s brows furrowed and he asked, “What year are you from?”

Dean found his voice again, and he replied gruffly, “Twenty-nineteen.”

“Hmm,” Cas murmured thoughtfully. “We’re in the same year. What is different in your universe? So that I may gain context for what to explain to you.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks that universally meant ‘where the fuck do we start?’ but Sam took the reigns, explaining, “Uh, well, for starters, the angels don’t have wings anymore, or any power, really. They were stranded on earth for a bit until Metatron let them back in through an entrance.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up, and immediately, he and Hannah exchanged a look that lingered.

Hannah’s blue eyes flickered up to stare at them in the rearview mirror. “An entrance to Heaven?”

“Yeah,” Dean spoke up, swaying as they plowed over potholes, driving way too fucking fast under a dilapidated bridge, veering this way and that around ruined cars and piles of garbage that lined the outside to the city. “It was in some playground.”

“Metatron, you say?” Castiel asked, his eyes narrowing. “The scribe of God? What significance did he have in your world? Ours, he died when Lucifer…”

Cas lowered his eyes and Hannah’s hands squeaked around the wheel. Dean felt a solemness settling in the cabin and he replied slowly, “He wasn’t a good dude. Kinda evil, actually. He activated a curse that expelled all the angels from Heaven. They all fell.”

“Difference number one,” Hannah said with a sigh. “None of our angels fell. The angels you see in our ranks chose to be down here. We chose our side.”

“And what side did you guys choose exactly?” Sam asked warily, and Dean noticed him shuffling uncomfortably. It seemed both Winchesters immediately became aware they may have ended up locked in a car with the wrong side.

“We are not the angels you should fear,” Castiel replied instantly, his eyes weary as he picked up on the discomfort and suspicion. The dark circles under his eyes were deep. “The angels you saw today on our side are graceless angels. We tore out our grace to hide on Earth from the alphas of Heaven. We—”

“Don’t listen to him. He tells it all wrong,” Hannah interrupted, flashing a small soft smile at Castiel, who lowered his eyes and picked at a loose thread from his deep grey sweater. “We fought against Lucifer, all the angels did, but by the time it was all done, when Michael struck down Lucifer, Heaven was destroyed. The alphas who reigned supreme in Heaven all turned on Castiel and they blamed him for what happened.”

“What?” Dean asked, his face pinching. “Why?”

“Because,” Castiel rumbled quietly, swaying as Hannah took a sharp turn off the empty freeway out into a dusty country road, “if I hadn’t rebelled against fate, then Lucifer would’ve never wreaked the destruction on Heaven. The chaos he left behind was a smouldering husk. Most of Heaven was _ruined_ , incinerated to ashes—and most of Earth, at that.

“I played an instrumental part in keeping you and Sam free from your destinies. You were meant to be Lucifer’s vessel,” Castiel said to Sam. He turned his eyes on Dean and they took on a very distant quality. “And Dean, you were to be the true vessel for Michael.”

“And _you_ stopped that?” Sam asked after a clearing of his throat.

“Yes.” Castiel gazed at Dean, making Dean shift under the penetrative stare. “The Sam and Dean of our universe were desperate to fight against their prophesied roles. They wanted freedom. They wanted to be left alone, out of the path of Destiny. So...the angels began to murder everyone who had ever come into contact with the Winchesters, and it...it tore the brothers to shreds. So, I hid them, for a time… For too long, it turned out.”

“Castiel,” Hannah warned, sliding her hands off the wheel to rub at his shoulder.

“It’s my fault,” Castiel went on, lifting his eyes from Dean and settling on Sam. The lines around Castiel’s mouth were deep, but he shrugged and explained, “When Lucifer rose, he broke open Hell, swallowed every soul inside it, harnessed the power of every witch to build him a strong vessel so that he no longer required the ‘right’ one. He was strong enough to control and manipulate the dark forces to his will, and eventually, Michael had no choice but to step in. They battled. And when Michael eventually destroyed Lucifer, the angels blamed me for the warzone that Heaven had become.”

“If Michael won, what was there to blame you about?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he exhaled through a pinhole formed by his lips. “Michael was their saviour, and I...I was the reason he’d been forced to battle Lucifer, in their eyes. The alphas thought that if Sam and Dean had just taken up their roles, the fight would have been quick. It would have been over with minimal bloodshed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean interrupted, shaking his head. “In our world, everyone always told us that if Michael and Lucifer fought, the world would be fried.”

“Difference number two,” Hannah piped in, veering them onto a small hidden driveway, the truck thumping this way and that. She hardly seemed to care as mangled, dry branches scratched against the side of the car.

Castiel went quiet, sighing and turning the thread around his fingers, his features smoothing over as he became pensive.

Hannah kept looking over at him, waiting for him to continue, but when he didn’t, she insisted, “It was _not_ Castiel’s fault. The Winchesters wouldn’t play their role, and frankly, Heaven went about it all wrong. Killing their loved ones? Blackmailing them? What did they expect?”

“You are grasping at straws to defend me,” Castiel scolded firmly, looking sidelong at her as he was twisted to face the brothers. “I shouldn’t have meddled. The prophecy was clear; the Winchesters would save Heaven, and because of me, they didn’t.”

“Take a good look into our backseat, Castiel. Maybe it’s not too late,” Hannah interjected, fiery and angry. 

Around them, the van broke out into a clearing. In the middle of a field erupted a large old building. Its shutters were old and dilapidated, and the front porch which curled around the main floor looked like it had once been white and cheerful, but was now chipped, empty and grey. The old farmhouse looked dreary and abandoned to say the least. There were no pigs or cows enclosed in the broken wooden pens, and there were no chickens trapped within the chicken wire, but parked haphazardly out in the trampled overgrown field were a series of black trucks and vans. Dean watched a few darkly-dressed angels carrying boxes and armfuls of guns into the house from the cars. Another two angels helped a third from the back of a pickup truck as he looked injured and limped on a mangled and bloody leg. 

Hannah threw the car into park and gestured to the graceless angels through the windshield. “That’s why we’re graceless, why we’re down here. We all _chose_ to take Castiel’s side. The alphas in Heaven, they...they were out of control. Overcome with rage at the state of Heaven. They were aggressive and violent, twisted with grief.”

“So you ripped out your grace to side with Cas?” Sam asked Hannah in realization. 

“Castiel,” Castiel corrected, a strange flicker of emotions crossing his face. “But yes, these angels, they...they chose to run away with me. We’ve been on Earth for nearly a decade. Most of humanity was burnt to ashes, but over the years the survivors have centralized in former big cities. They are trying to rebuild their civilizations, and we want it to stay that way. God made us to protect the humans, and while the angels in Heaven have forgotten that since his leave, we haven’t. We live on this earth to protect them—to hide, yes, but also to fight.”

“Why do angels come down here? What do they want?” Dean felt like he didn’t want to know the answer, judging by the disgusted look on Castiel.

“We weren’t certain at first,” Hannah said as she opened her door, urging them to follow with a curl of her finger.

Dean and Sam climbed out, inhaling the crisp, cold air, and watching as Hannah and Cas went around the back, opening the trunk and slinging bags of weaponry over their shoulders. 

“But they started taking the human omegas, dozens of them,” she continued to explain, pulling down the trunk door and giving it a hearty slam. “Seeing as there are only alphas up there, you can imagine their intent…”

Dean didn’t understand, but it looked like Sam did because he breathed, “But...why?”

“Because we’re all sterile,” Castiel said bitterly to Sam, walking past the brothers towards the house, hardly waiting for them to follow.

“You’re sterile?” Dean repeated, perplexed, trudging after Castiel. “Why the fuck—”

“You can thank Lucifer,” Hannah explained, snorting and falling into step with Castiel, their boots squelching over wet mud. “He had a very sexist way of showing Heaven’s angels just what he thought of them. He left the alphas alone, but made them watch as he sterilized the rest of us, took away our only way to reproduce.”

“It was one indiginity after another,” Castiel growled as they walked up the rickety country home steps, pausing only to trace his finger over the wooden door. Behind his finger rippled a trail of magenta magic that sparked as it formed a distinct symbol. Once it faded away, the door opened with a click and Castiel stepped through.

Once again, Dean was overcome with the same feeling from the car; if they walked through the door, they’d be trapped with a bunch of angels, with potentially the ‘wrong side’. But once Castiel stepped inside and Hannah urged Dean and Sam after him with a smile and a gentle hand on his elbow, the feeling drained away. 

In the house, Dean watched angels gather in rooms all around. The house was bustling with activity. A few angels arrived on the main floor from what seemed to be a basement, carrying baskets of laundry, while others gathered in what seemed to be a living room, piled on couches, tending to wounds with bandages and first-aid kits. In a room to the left, what looked to be a dining room at one point, there were cots set up and one vaguely familiar blond woman was bustling around, tending to the injured.

But Castiel and Hannah walked past the rush of angels after kicking off their shoes. Sam and Dean exchanged wide-eyed, nervous looks, but followed suit, shuffling along a narrow hallway past a staircase to the upstairs, where they vaguely heard the sound of music. 

In the back half of the large country house was an open concept kitchen and dining room. 

“What the hell is this place?” Dean asked as Castiel went up to a few perplexed angels who were in the middle of washing dishes and putting away what looked like leftover food into a big steel fridge.

“Go help the injured,” Castiel said quietly to a small woman with pink hair. “Rachel’s overwhelmed, the rescue mission was difficult.”

The pink-haired angel nodded, though her eyes were on Sam and Dean. “Of course.”

“We’ll explain later, once the day shift is in bed and settled,” Hannah whispered to the girl, giving her shoulder a comforting pat. 

Once they were alone in the kitchen, Castiel dropped his bag onto the table and sat down in a wooden chair, gesturing for Sam and Dean to do the same.

“We’ve told some of our story. Your turn,” Hannah said to the boys, putting her bag beside Castiel’s before she rummaged through the large fridge and began handing out water bottles to everyone.

Dean accepted his and sat opposite Cas, who was still staring at him, although the graceless angel looked away quickly when he realized he’d been caught.

“Well,” said Sam, piping up after a beat where he waited for Dean to start talking, “it kinda sounds like our universes were the same until they diverged at some point before Detroit.”

“Detroit?” Castiel asked, the line between his eyes deepening as his brows furrowed. His elbows shifted against the table as he crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened in Detroit?”

After all these years, the memory of Detroit still stung and Dean winced, while Sam’s jaw jumped.

“I, uh, said yes to Lucifer in Detroit,” Sam murmured.

Hannah’s eyes jumped to her guns in the duffle just off to the side, and Castiel’s face fell, his elbows sliding off the table as he sat up straight and still, his eyes trained on Sam.

“He’s not Lucifer still, obviously,” Dean said through his teeth, wanting to warn them before Sam ended up with a few dozen bullets in his chest from jumpy graceless angels. “Sam went to Hell to save Earth, locked himself in the cage with Michael in Hell, and uh, then Cas got him out. That’s, uh, how our plots diverge—other than the fact that we’re not dead.”

“Plots?” Castiel asked, a cool brow raised.

Shit. Dean wasn’t sure if they were ready to find out yet about Chuck and his stories, and how nothing in existence was real. The angels would have a meltdown. Or they’d shoot Dean and Sam where they sat.

“Universes,” Dean corrected. 

“And you?” Hannah asked, leaning towards Dean, her eyes sweeping his face. “Did you say yes to Michael?”

“No, I didn’t. Sam took one for the team and saved the world.”

Sam’s chin dipped and he stared down at the table, but Dean couldn’t help but feel proud. They hadn’t realized, but they’d probably fucked up one of Chuck’s plotlines back then, too.

“And Castiel?” Castiel asked, his eyes looking far away. “What was his role in all this? Before...Detroit.”

Dean smiled, his heart aching. “He kicked ‘em right in the ass. He rebelled, helped us save the world.”

Castiel's head tilted down and Hannah grinned beside him, sliding her arm over his shoulders and giving him a squeeze, though Castiel looked weary and tired. 

“See? Every time, you make the same choice,” Hannah whispered encouraging near his ear. “You haven’t ever been anything that you weren’t meant to be.”

“There was no war,” Sam went on, changing the subject as they all became aware of how uncomfortable Castiel was getting. “There was no Michael versus Lucifer, so, uh, the world was kind of okay. At least immediately after. Other shit happened but, uh, there hasn’t been any apocalypse that we couldn’t stop.”

Castiel raised his head, his eyes pinched at the corner and looking suspiciously glittery. “Your world is intact. Heaven is intact, the angels are fertile?”

Yikes. How did they explain to this Castiel that his doppelganger had played a pivotal role in the piss-poor state of Heaven back in their universe? Cas hadn’t ever gone into detail, but it was crystal clear that shit was dire.

“Um, Earth is fine. But, uh, Heaven… It’s not doin’ so hot.” Dean picked at the wrapper of his water bottle. “A lot of angels are dead because of C—”

Sam interjected, “A civil war. We don’t know much about it—” A lie. “—but it’s still there. Heaven, that is. It’s still there. There just aren’t many angels left.”

“But they can make more?” Hannah asked hopefully, looking between the brothers with round eyes. “They’re fertile? Able to reproduce, surely…”

Sam and Dean lifted their heads to wince at each other. “I...don’t think it works like that back where we’re from,” Sam explained slowly, like he was walking on eggshells. “We don’t have alpha and omegas and betas there. We’re just...male and female. Sometimes both, sometimes neither. Some people fall somewhere else in between, but as far as I know, angels don’t reproduce like humans. I think God just... _made_ the angels.”

“And they’re siblings,” Dean added with a snort. 

Hannah and Castiel visibly recoiled, leaning away from the table. “Siblings?” they said together. 

Dean snorted. “Yeah. What, you’re not brothers and sisters here?”

“ _No!_ God, no,” Hannah breathed, while Castiel glanced at her and whispered, “That’s disgusting.”

“Difference number three,” Dean muttered, though he was partially amused how Castiel and Hannah eyed each other after finding out they were siblings in another universe.

Castiel shifted in his seat, while Hannah retracted her arm from around his shoulders and instead linked her fingers on the table around her water bottle, her cheeks red.

Castiel rubbed at his stubble and cleared his throat. “We have male and females in this universe as well, but those aspects of anatomy are minor and frankly, quite inconsequential. In all other terms, your biological sex of alpha, beta, or omega rule over essentially every aspect of life. Even in Heaven, the top-tiered angels were all alphas.”

Hannah nodded at Castiel, and added, “All archangels were alphas. Only in the last hundred years were betas and omegas allowed to lead minor garrisons. Typically, we existed only to repopulate Heaven as our numbers dwindled in wartime. Betas were often healers or nurturing classes, like rit zien and cupids.”

“Reapers were alphas or betas,” Castiel added, shrugging a shoulder and unscrewing his water bottle.

“So if you’d repopulate amongst yourselves, didn’t that make you all kind of related?” Dean challenged, a sick part of him enjoying the way Castiel and Hannah had squirmed earlier.

“No,” Castiel said firmly, scowling at Dean. “We did not simply mate with any angel who had a decent knot, Dean.”

The tone of Castiel’s voice made Dean feel sufficiently scolded.

“Right, sorry,” Dean muttered.

“At peak population, Heaven had thousands of angels. And much like humans, we had true mates. We were only to reproduce with true mates,” Castiel explained, still eyeing Dean with disapproval.

“Did you have one?” Dean asked suddenly. He knew this was a different Castiel, he somehow inherently knew this one wasn’t his, this one didn’t belong to him, and that he didn’t belong to him either. But...he had to know.

“I did,” Castiel said, raising his eyes to stare at Dean. A peculiar emotion fluttered over his features, and Dean noticed Castiel glance down at his lips, before he added, “They died.”

While Dean thought that might’ve made him feel better for some reason, there was the distinct etching of grief in the lines of Castiel’s face, and it just made Dean’s stomach twist in all kinds of weird ways.

“I’m sorry,” Dean murmured, tapping at the side of his water, before he felt the compulsion to drink, if only to buy him some time to change the subject.

Luckily, Hannah spoke before he had to come up with anything. She slid aside her water and leaned on the table, peering at Sam. Curiously, she asked, “So a world without alphas, betas, and omegas… What’s that like?”

Sam smiled a bit. “Much easier than it is here, I’ll bet. We just kind of...pair up with whoever we want?”

“Our world is slowly becoming that way,” Castiel said quietly. “But those who revolt against standard sex roles encounter resistance. It’s frowned upon to choose your own mate, or to refuse to procreate. Until a few years ago, it was illegal.”

Hannah’s cheeks, which carried the residual redness from her earlier embarrassment, became round as she smiled. Reaching between her and Castiel, she linked her fingers with his and raised his hand to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred knuckles. 

“The benefit to being sterile is that we’re no longer at the whims of our pheromones,” Hannah murmured, her eyes fond as she locked eyes with Castiel, who Dean noticed, smiled back at her, a twinkle in his blue eyes.

It was then that Dean realised.

“ _Oh_ ,” Sam vocalized for them both.

Castiel’s hand squeezed hers and Hannah winked, getting to her feet. “I should check on Jonah. He injured his leg in the fight. Do either of you need anything? Night will fall soon, I imagine you’ll need somewhere to sleep. We have rooms upstairs and free beds. I’ll prepare those for you; I hope you don’t mind roommates.”

Dean straighten up in his seat, alarm shooting down his spine. “Sleep? No, we gotta find Cas—”

“It’s not safe to venture out at night,” Castiel explained, his tone firm and warning. “After Lucifer tore open every gate of Hell, monsters and demons have been roaming the Earth freely. It’s why all of the buildings in the city are warded, why our location is secret and protected. It won’t do us any good to venture out now, and my people are tired and injured. We should wait until tomorrow to form a plan.”

While Dean felt anger simmer and bubble inside him, a rebuttal ready on the tip of his tongue, Sam’s hand on his shoulder kept him silent.

“Bathroom, Hannah?” Sam asked. 

“Upstairs,” Hannah said tilting her head towards the doorway. “Come, I’ll show you. I’m heading up there now anyway.”

They left, disappearing into the main hallway. Dean and Castiel sat alone in the kitchen. 

“You look older,” Castiel said quietly, his voice soft, but his eyes softer as they searched Dean’s face. “There are lines around your eyes.”

Dean looked up from the table, where he’d been staring intensely, anxiety and fear swirling in his stomach just at the thought of Cas up in Heaven at the mercy of angels who were fully powered and knowingly cruel. 

“Thanks a lot,” Dean grumbled. He looked into Castiel’s face, wanting to point out how old Castiel looked, too, but found that he couldn’t. Castiel looked as young as he had since the first time Dean’d laid eyes on him in that barn. Graceless, it seemed, didn’t mean he was human. 

Castiel smiled gently. “Don't be mistaken nor offended, Dean. I’m...very pleased to see you look older. It’s very good to see. I never…” Blue eyes drank in every feature of Dean’s face, but it strangely didn’t bother him to be scrutinized so intently. Castiel raised a hand to his mouth and rubbed at his dry lips. With a note of nostalgia and something like longing, Castiel murmured, “I never got to see you a day older than thirty. Forty-one looks very well on you.”

It should have embarrassed Dean, and maybe it may have at some point in time when Dean wasn’t completely aware of the feelings he had for Cas. But instead, it just made his heart ache a little, knowing the Castiel that sat in front of him never got to experience the same things his Cas had.

Again, Dean was spared from finding something to say.

“We’ll help you,” Castiel said quietly, his eyes kind as they searched Dean’s face. “We’ll do our best, but it won’t be easy. Ever since the angels began taking humans up to Heaven, we’d been trying to get in, trying to find another entrance, but the ones we used to know had all been shut.”

Dean’s face drained of colour and he felt an overwhelming wave of fear go through him. On the table, his water bottle crunched as he wrapped his hands around it.

“You don’t know how to get into Heaven?” Dean asked tightly, anger bubbling up in him and sitting behind his teeth. “How the fuck are you going to help us, then? How the fuck are we supposed to save Cas from—”

As Dean’s voice rose, Castiel got up and crossed the room. Initially, Dean thought Castiel was going to storm out on him, but instead, he leaned out into the hallway, looked either way, and then shut the door so it was only the two of them.

Dean sucked in a breath when Castiel slid onto the bench beside him and leaned in so that they were close. 

“What I’m about to tell you does not leave this room, do you understand?” Castiel whispered, his tone dead-serious, his eyes dark and stern. 

Dean swallowed hard, inhaling the scent of this Castiel, noting that he didn’t smell like rain or lightening or lemons, he smelled like...nothing. Laundry, maybe. Holy oil, perhaps…

“I won’t say anything,” Dean murmured, a tad nervous at the intense look in the angel’s eyes. 

Seemingly satisfied, Castiel nodded and leaned away a bit, licking his lips thoughtfully before he whispered, “There’s a spy in our ranks.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open and his eyes darted towards the door. “A spy? Who?”

“We don’t know,” Castiel growled, looking frustrated, the tops of his cheeks tinted pink and his hand flat on the table flexed, his fingernails curling under against his palm. “Our numbers are small, but not small enough to sniff them out yet. However, there have been missions we’ve gone on—Hell, even simple supply runs we’ve made that’ve been intercepted by angels like they _knew_ we were going to be there. No amount of planning, or red herrings, or diversionary techniques have stopped them. Hannah and I have checked the property and our vehicles for tracking spells and we have discovered _nothing_. We abandon vehicles at random, and yet, this is the third base camp we’ve had to set up because the others have been discovered.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, shaking his head. 

“Indeed.” Cas nodded, his lip curling. “The only bright side to this is that when we discover the spy, we’ll make them lead us straight to Heaven. And I think we’re close. The process has been slow, we don’t want anyone to suspect we know, but the process of elimination is leading us to this traitor.”

“What’re you gonna do when you get up there?” 

Cas’ scowl slowly turned up into a smirk. “We’ll kill them all. Every last alpha who watched us be sterilized and did nothing. Every last one who appeared horrified at Lucifer’s actions, but turned on my people the moment no archangel was around to supervise.”

“You’re gonna kill ‘em?” Dean asked. Part of him was unsettled by the murderous glint in Castiel’s eyes, but another part of him understood. 

“They tortured anyone who sympathized with me. They’ve captured, and tortured, and raped humans in an attempt to repopulate Heaven, Dean,” Castiel growled. “They realized they couldn’t make more angels, so they tried to make nephilim. They’re stupid and desperate. They knew no omega or beta human could take an alpha angel’s seed, they _knew_ nephilim don’t work that way and yet they still carried out their vile, horrific experiments, hoping one would stick. I can’t imagine how many humans have died horrific deaths up there. I simply can’t imagine the bloodshed.”

Dean felt sick, and he raised a hand to his mouth.

Cas looked equally nauseous, but he went on, hissing, “So we’ll take their grace and kill them, Dean. Then, we’ll retake Heaven and once again we’ll take our up posts as protectors of humanity. No more in-fighting. No more war. Not from us, at least.”

Any discomfort about Castiel’s intentions shifted from being about his vengeance to a chilling realization...

“Cas is an omega here,” Dean breathed, bile crawling up his throat and cramping his stomach. Sweat immediately broke out in the crease of his spine. “Oh, god. He’s an omega angel.”

Castiel’s face broke and he nodded, bowing his head, his eyes darkening as they stared at his balled fist. “Yes. He is. As I am. The reason… Dean, the reason we were on that street tonight was because we heard angel radio the second they touched down on Earth. They said they’d found what they were looking for.”

“What were they looking for?” Dean gulped, feeling moments from vomiting. “Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered, raising his head. His eyes were a whirlpool of pain and fear. “We’d felt the presence of an omega angel the moment you three had landed in this universe. And last night, we all felt the blast of grace when the nephil was conceived. We never thought we’d feel it again, there hasn’t been an omega angel for nearly eleven years.”

The room grew a bit fuzzy and Dean heard blood rushing in his ears. His face was already drained of colour, but he felt his lips go numb.

“A nephil,” Dean rasped, a pulse of panic shooting down his center. 

Castiel shifted forward in his seat, his hand coming to hold Dean’s arm firmly. “Dean, breathe.”

Never much of a fainter, Dean realized he was on the precipice of losing consciousness from sheer terror. He knew he should breathe but he couldn’t, his lungs refused to cooperate.

“A nephil,” Dean punched out in a rush of air. 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Castiel whispered, both hands now on Dean’s arms, squeezing. “I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t. But I could not imagine a universe where I would be mated with anyone else. Did...did you mate with Castiel, Dean? Did you mark him?”

Before his blurry eyes, Dean saw himself in the bathroom, his fingernails digging into Cas’ skin and his teeth sinking into his neck as they moaned together.

“Yes,” Dean breathed shakily, his hands vibrating in his lap. “He was in h-heat, and we…”

Castiel’s eyes pinched at the corners and he nodded slowly. He knew.

So that was it. Dean had been right. Cas was his true mate, and they’d...mated. 

They’d made a nephil.

***

Naomi explained the war in Heaven, pacing in front of him, her heels clicking over white marble. Castiel’s knees ached, and he thought they would surely bruise from being forced to kneel for so long. He desperately wished the villain speech would end so he could be at least yanked to his feet by the warded chains around his wrists, but if the pleased smirks on Zachariah and Uriel’s faces were anything to go by, they enjoyed seeing him on his knees.

“....Michael _left_ us,” Naomi sneered, her eyes flashing with fury. “He left us with the empty husk that was Heaven after the war and it was all because of you.”

“I’m not from this universe,” Castiel said, raising his confined hands to drag his knuckles over his bleeding lip. The struggle to get Castiel into restraints had landed him a few blows to the face, though he was proud of himself for fracturing one of Zachariah's ribs, even if it was just for catharsis since the angel could heal himself instantly in Heaven.

“The crimes you’re punishing me for aren’t mine,” Castiel rasped, his tongue swiping over his split lip. “Your anger is misplaced—”

Naomi was on her knee in front of him and her thin fingers grasped his chin roughly, tilting his head up until they were eye-level. “I know that you do not belong to this world, Castiel. You smell nothing like him—”

Castiel grimaced and tried to pull away as Naomi leaned in close to the skin of his cheek and inhaled deeply. “What are y—”

“Nothing like him,” she murmured, pulling away and surveying him coldly. For a long series of moments, no one spoke, but then Naomi explained, “We felt your arrival in this world the moment it happened. There hasn’t been an omega angel in over a decade. Your mere existence rippled through our grace, through the fibre of our very makeup. I imagine even the graceless angels felt you.”

Her hand loosened on his face, and all Castiel could do was hold back a shudder as her cold hands dragged down his neck and the front of his black t-shirt before it settled on his stomach under his navel, pressing into the skin there.

“And of course, the fruit,” she breathed. “We felt the conception the moment it happened.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said through his teeth, though somewhere, deep, deep in the back of his mind, he did.

Because he’d felt it, too. Like a spark deep in his belly once Dean had left him alone in that bathroom. Under the spray of freezing water, he’d felt the _click_. Something happened inside him, and he’d attributed it to the fading fever at first, but Sam and Dean often forgot that Castiel was still an angel. A weak angel with wings shredded to strips, but he was still an angel. He’d heard them speaking in the room loud and clear, even through the rickety chipped door and the spray of the shower.

He was an omega. He’d been in heat.

And Dean… Dean was an alpha, he remembered the shopkeep saying. 

They’d...mated. The bite Dean had left on his skin was still there, almost immune to the healing powers of his grace, red and permanent on his shoulder. He was marked.

“Lucifer destroyed every fertile womb of every beta and omega in our ranks,” Naomi breathed, her tone shaking with emotion, her cheeks red. Castiel tried not to wince when her nails dug into his abdomen through the cheap cotton of his shirt. “And Michael left us with no method of reproducing. So, Castiel, while you may not be _him_ , the traitor, you are our last hope and we’ve seen the strength, the calibre of angels you’re able give us from your body. The fledglings you gave us were loyal, good, strong, fast. They were our best warriors, as you were.”

Wherever his counterpart of this world was now, Castiel pitied him.

“How do you expect to populate Heaven with just one angel?” Castiel rasped, his words spit like venom. “That would take time, and rest assured, Naomi, I will escape and you won’t even see me again because I don’t belong here, I belong back in my world—”

“Shut your mouth, insolent omega,” Zachariah barked, snapping his fingers. “That’s enough out of you. You’re going to play your damn role this time, do you understand? Rebellion is no longer an option, as much as it might break your pathetic, traitorous heart to hear. I know it’s in your very makeup, but so help me G—”

“Sam and Dean won’t leave me,” Castiel growled, this time being the one to lean forward, jolting Naomi a bit as she didn’t seem to expect it. 

Leaning away from him, her eyes flashed. “Sam and Dean?”

“He dares speak those mud monkey’s names in our presence, in this Holy space that they _destroyed_ with their misguided and inflated sense of entitlement _,”_ Uriel growled, and Castiel watched as the angel’s blade slipped from his sleeve.

“They’ll come for me if I can’t escape first,” Castiel spat, the fire of anger flaring to life inside him. They were stupid if they thought he was going to take their intentions quietly. “They’ll come for me, and if I know them at all, they’ll slaughter you _all_.”

He shouldn't have said that. If he was the angel he used to be, back in the day when he knew his place among these very angels, he wouldn’t have ever said that. But he’d been spending too much time around two humans who never knew when to shut up.

“YOU WISH TO CAUSE MORE DAMAGE THAN YOU ALREADY HAVE? MURDER MORE ANGELS?” Uriel roared, shoving Naomi aside, sending her sprawling out against the white, slick floor as he dove at Castiel, his blade reeled back. 

Castiel surged up and intercepted the blade before it split his face in two by jutting up his chained hands and twisting the sword in the links. With a grunt and a twist, the blade was jerked from Uriel’s hands and thrown to the side. 

That didn’t stop the angel. Uriel’s eyes went wide with rage and he took up the chains around Castiel’s hands, jerking him forward, causing him to lose balance and slide onto his elbows. Castiel wheezed and gasped as Uriel twined the chains around his neck and—

“NOOO!” Naomi shrieked, raising a palm and blasting Uriel across the room.

As Castiel choked, his trembling, panicked hands unravelling the chain from his throat, Uriel scrambled to his feet and growled.

Naomi raised a shaking finger at Uriel. “Do _not._ Nothing can ruin this for us, do you understand, Uriel? Keep your anger in check, or I will check it for you.”

Zachariah, leaning against a glass desk at the head of the room, sighed and rubbed at his eyes. While Naomi and Uriel glared at each other, Zachariah pushed off the desk and walked right up to Castiel, who was trying to push himself onto his knees again.

Crouching down before him, Zachariah pointed a finger in Castiel’s face. “Listen, there’s a little too much alpha energy in this room for me to tolerate for much longer. So here’s how it’s going to go, omega. Sam and Dean Winchester will never save you. The gates into Heaven are sealed, and even if they weren’t and those drooling apes made it up here, I would personally rip their lungs from within their bodies through their mouths. And then I would mount their heads on the walls of your cell so you can stare into their ugly, gaping faces while every alpha in Heaven shoves their eager, dribbling knots between your legs, got it?”

Castiel wanted to say something vicious, he wanted to scream in that smug face, he wanted to spit at him, strike him, hurt him...but fear kept his mouth shut. 

Heaven was closed. He was as good as trapped. Even in their own universe, it had been a challenge to break into Heaven when the gates kept moving locations. To break in when the gates were closed all together…

“I won’t bear your children,” Castiel whispered, barely louder than a breath, his nostrils trembling. “I won’t give in.”

Zachariah tapped Castiel’s face in a manner that was all too chummy, and the thin lips twisted into a smile that made his buggy eyes twinkle. “You’re gonna birth that dirty, half-blood Winchester nephil in _weeks_ , Castiel. And the very second that womb is vacant, those legs will spread. And if they don’t, we will pry them apart. I will _personally_ see to it.”

It’d been so long, but Castiel was quickly recalling the secret fear he’d always harboured of Zachariah. He was as repulsive as he’d always been. It seemed even an entirely different universe couldn’t change that.

“I’ll kill you,” Castiel growled. “I’ll kill you before I let you touch me.”

Zachariah rolled his eyes and rose to his feet, propping on hand on his hip while the other waved at Castiel loosely. “My goodness does he ever talk, talk, talk, talk, _talk_.”

Castiel watched him walk away with a burning in his gut, a horrible mixture of rage, fear, and ultimately, defeat. He could snap and snarl all he wanted, but he was at the mercy of at least three fully-powered angels whilst being restrained in grace-draining chains.

Naomi returned, her heels clicking over the hard floor. Once again, she kneeled before him. This time she didn’t touch him. Instead, her cold, silver eyes darted across the features of his face before settling her venomous stare in line with his gaze.

“You were always like this,” she said simply, shaking her head. “Came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You never wanted to do anything as instructed, did you? But your rebellion cost us everything, and now… Now you'll repay us by replacing every angel who died because of you."

Her words. Zachariah's threats. They all left him feeling a chill that settled deep inside him. As Naomi got to her feet, wafting behind her the scent of cold steel, she clicked her fingers and the double doors behind Castiel swung open. Two angels stood in the dark flickering hallway of grey cement, and wordlessly, they took Castiel by either arm, jerking him to his feet.

"Esper and Malacai will take you your cell. Put on the clothing, eat, and rest. The nephil needs nutrients, and you'll need your strength for the birth. If you're anything like your counterpart, your births will be painful. Bloody."

Castiel's jaw jutted out and he bared his teeth, but Naomi just flickered her hands at the angels who began to tug him from the room.

"The first born will be here soon," he heard Naomi say to Uriel and Zachariah. "And then we can begin the real work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO? What'd you guys think? Stuff is ramping up... Let me know your thoughts in the comments, I love to hear from y'all!


	6. Fathers and Mothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI BABES.
> 
> Happy Sunday! Here's another chapter for you to enjoy!
> 
> Many robust thank you to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for betaing this chapter again. She's the wind beneath my wings, the air in my lungs, the rangler of my em-dashes. You WISH your beta was as amazing as mine. ;)

Dean didn’t sleep that night. 

How could he? Castiel had forced him to face the reality of what he and Cas had done. While succumbing to the power of Cas’ heat, while he let himself give into the urges he’d always had but never admitted to, he and Cas had...made a nephil.

They’d put a nephil in Cas. They’d made a baby, they’d made another life unknowingly.

The very thought was just _absurd._ It was beyond crazy. He knew there was crazy shit that'd happened to him, Sam, and Cas in their messy, fucked up lives. But _this?_

Chuck was going to get his ass kicked the moment they got back to their world. _If_ they got back to their world.

 _No,_ Dean thought as his tired eyes gazed out a window of the bedroom they’d been given, watching the orange glow of sunrise. _When. We’re gonna find our way out of this fucked up universe._ But Dean didn’t dare to think of the repercussions of a nephil. He’d never thought he’d become a father, not after what he’d done to Ben. To Emma. To… To Jack.

Stupid, misguided kid. Served him right for thinking there was anything admirable in Dean worth emulating. 

Dean reached up and rubbed wetness from his eyes, ignoring the feeling of each brick being slid into place as he put up a wall around his heart. There wasn’t enough room in his whirlwind of a mind for thinking about Jack, although his heart disagreed, squeezing and shuddering at the memories of that kid. 

Dean tried to convince the feeling in his chest that Jack wasn’t worth mourning. He’d killed mom… He’d killed her.

But how many times had people died because of Dean? How many mothers had he put down in some way or another? How many times had he thoughtlessly pulled the trigger and killed someone’s mom? How was he better than Jack, who’d just been trying to do his best, who’d just thought he’d been doing the right thing...

Point was, Dean couldn’t think about his own nephil. Because they would rescue Cas before it was born, because they were going to rescue him _soon_. They would rescue him before he’d even get a chance to pop that thing out. The nephil would be nothing but a mere concept left behind in this universe when they escaped...

Another child Dean would cast aside. Ben, Emma, Jack, now this tiny unborn thing that he hadn’t even known about for more than a day…

Dean sat up, feeling sick to his stomach with mourning. His legs shook as he slid them over the edge of the bed, his mind feeling foggy with grief over some kid that wasn’t born yet and had no business taking up so much room in his brain. Dean rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his hands over his mouth as he stared out of the window. Behind him, Sam slept soundly on the bed they’d been forced to share, and two beds over, other graceless angels still snoozed, dead to the world.

Rising panic bubbled and overflowed in his chest and Dean felt the onset of a panic attack growing inside him. His eyes grew wet and his face felt hot. It was with concerted effort that he rose to his feet and left the room quietly, padding across the hall to the small, old bathroom. He clicked on the light and closed the door behind him with care. As soon as he was alone, Dean gulped in a few lungfuls of air and leaned over the sink, jerking on the old country house tap, watching it sputter and burst out with too much force. But he hardly cared about crappy plumbing and the splashes on his shirt, gathering water in his hands and throwing it against his face. 

The older he got, the worse he got at holding back emotions. Repression was hardly a coping mechanism that worked anymore. It was like he’d whittled away his resolve as he experienced one heartache after another, decaying his resilience. Only days ago had he driven out into the forest in the middle of the night, his hands shaking, his eyes burning, just to have a private moment alone, just to bawl and grieve his mother. 

It was happening again now. His chest could hardly hold the coiled barbed wire ball of anxiety as he thought of Cas in captivity at the hands of angels who were going to use him to make more angels, who were going to… No, Dean couldn’t think of what they were going to do to Cas. He just knew he had to save him. Him, and their kid. Their kid who hadn’t asked for anything yet, who did nothing to deserve being left behind or forgotten, who shouldn’t pay for Dean’s baggage and former history with his offspring.

Swallowing a sob, Dean ran his wet hand over his face and gave his head a shake. “Gonna save you, Cas,” Dean whispered roughly as he turned off the taps and looked at himself in the mirror. “You and that nephil. I’m not gonna let you rot up there, I ain’t gonna leave you behind. I...I promise I’ll fix things. We’re gonna get you both back to our universe, and we’re gonna save Jack. too, I promise. Just hang on.”

And with that, Dean stepped away from the counter, pulling his t-shirt up by the collar and swiping his face with it, unconcerned for the smudges of dampness splotching his collar.

Not wanting to wake Sam yet—at least one of them had to get some sleep—Dean walked past the bedroom doors lining both sides of the hallway. He knew hidden behind the doors were beds and beds shoved together in small rooms with sleeping angels tangled under the covers. His socked feet padded quietly over the old wooden floor that needed refinishing about ten years ago, and he made his way down the narrow staircase to the main floor, where angels bustled around from room to room, carrying armfuls of weapons and laundry and food. A few of them smiled at him, while others looked a bit suspicious and even fearful as he wandered around.

The country house smelled like eggs and bacon and waffles. Dean’s stomach rumbled a bit, but he recalled Cas’ cooking skills and wondered if the kitchen in a graceless angel community was as much of a hot mess with burnt toast and overly crunchy bacon as it was in the bunker. Regardless of his hesitance, Dean followed the smell to the farthest room in the back of the house, and was surprised to see three angels setting plates of food in the center of a long table. Seated at the table were at least eight angels, chatting and _eating_. Four of them even played a card game around plates of eggs sunny-side up and glasses of orange juice.

It was the weirdest thing Dean had ever seen. Weird and still entirely normal.

“Dean! Hello!” 

The angels stopped talking and playing their game, turning to eye Dean at the doorway. A young-looking angel with big blue eyes and short curly brown hair waved at him. 

Dean’s heart did a little jump, remembering the last time he’d seen that face. It had been lifeless and streaked with drops and splatters of blood.

“Alfie,” Dean breathed, staring at the young man.

Alfie’s hand turned in the air and curled, gesturing for Dean to come in. “Hi! Are you hungry?”

Dean didn’t step in at first, his eyes sweeping over the other faces at the table. He realized that he knew most of them, and wondered with a sinking feeling if he’d killed any of them back in his universe. 

He saw Hester, the blonde who had accused him of poisoning everything he touched, and Rachel, Cas’ old lieutenant. They both smiled warmly at him, while Ishim eyed Dean warily, as did two other angels Dean didn’t recognize by name. 

“There’s more than enough to go around,” Hester said kindly, gesturing to an open spot across from Samandriel. 

Dean nodded and walked in, eyeing her as he slowly lowered himself onto an old wooden chair. He recalled her spitting at him, _“The moment Castiel laid his hand on you, he was lost!”_ and wondered if she felt the same way in this universe. 

Although, judging by the wink she tossed in his direction and the jutting of her chin towards a jug of orange juice, she didn’t.

This universe was fucked.

“Thanks,” Dean said, flashing a tight smile. His chest still felt buzzing with the remnants of his earlier panic, but he took the plate offered to him by Rachel and began helping himself, trying to act normal. 

“It’s quite alarming to see you in the flesh,” Alfie admitted, sounding a bit starstruck. When Dean lifted his face to look at the kid, Alfie _looked_ starstruck, too.

“You, too,” Dean admitted, plopping a piece of toast on his plate. He licked butter off his finger and added, “Good to see you kickin’ around again.”

Hester and Alfie exchanged a confused look. “What?” Alfie asked. His eyes widened. “Did we know each other in your universe?”

So, word travelled fast about the multiverse, it seemed, though of course, Castiel would have needed to explain to the angels why Sam and Dean Winchester were walking around, sleeping in their beds, and eating their food.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, twisting his fork in his hand. “We knew each other, kind of. Ran into each other once or twice.”

“Wow,” Alfie breathed, sitting up straight. “That’s fascinating.”

After shoving some food in his mouth and nearly groaning with satisfaction—the food wasn’t burnt and he hadn’t eaten since the morning before—Dean swallowed quickly and asked, “Why? You and me never met before?”

“Gosh no,” Alfie laughed, waving his fork in the air. “Castiel had you and Sam Winchester hidden before most of us even got a chance to touch down on Earth. No one knew your location.”

“None of us ever got a chance to meet you, save for upper management; Zachariah, Uriel. And Castiel, by proxy,” Ishim listed roughly, swallowing a mouthful of orange juice before he rubbed at his mouth with a crumpled napkin and refocused on his food. “Six months into your hiding, some of us found you.”

Rachel threw down her napkin and warned, “Ishim.”

“Of course there was little meeting and greeting,” Ishim sighed, his teeth clicking on his fork around bacon. “The train tracks you’d been tied to made quite a mess of your bodies.”

Dean swallowed the mouthful of warm egg, though it was by pure instinct because he set down his fork. “Sam and I got run over by a train?”

“Ishim, stop frightening him,” Rachel said firmly. 

“Oh yeah.” Ishim nodded, his leathery skin crinkling under his grey stubble as he smirked. “Farmers nearby said they heard a commotion near, and smelled sulfur so strong it stung their eyes and burnt their crops. They heard a couple of young men screaming for their lives by the tracks a mile away, then a train went by and it was dead quiet.”

“Who killed us?” Dean asked in a whisper.

Ishim looked between all the other angels, and his shoulders sagged. With a grunt, he tucked in closer to his food and muttered, “I’d better shut up before an angel bullet ends up between my eyes.”

“Yes, you’d best,” Hester snapped, rising to her feet and bringing her plate over to the sink, where a young angel cooking breakfast accepted the plate with a smile. Hester turned on her heel and stopped at the end of the table, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We’re happy to have you, Dean Winchester. It was prophesied that you and your brother would save Heaven, and when you died, you took all of our hope with you. But your return has injected hope back into these ranks. Make yourself at home, and let us know if you need anything.”

Her hand slid off his shoulder, but she paused, pointing at Ishim. “And if this black cloud of an angel gives you trouble, let me know. There’s a pig pen outside that’s hardly used, but the hay is sufficient bedding for an angel who likes to act like a pig.”

Ishim rolled his eyes at his bacon, but he didn’t speak anymore.

Dean eyed him, remembering that Ishim was a dickbag in their universe, too. And then he recalled what Castiel said about a spy…

Ishim rose to his feet and Dean watched the angel, suspicion tinging in the back of his brain. He’d have to speak to Castiel later about this.

“What do you think of the food, Dean?” Alfie asked excitedly, pointing at the two sunny-side-up eggs on Dean’s plate. “My vessel used to work in a restaurant, and I’ve retained his memories, so since we all began eating, I’ve introduced more foods into the routine. I’ve convinced the others to try a sprinkle of paprika and onion powder on the eggs. I think they like it.”

Dean cleared his throat and redirected his attention to Alfie, blinking. “Uh...they’re great, Alfie.”

The angel’s face scrunched up in confusion and the kid tilted his head at Dean. “Alfie? That was my vessel’s name, how did you know…”

“Uh,” Dean set his fork down and picked up his napkin, dragging it over his lips. “Other universe stuff.”

“Oh,” Alfie said, nodding. “Right. Well, my name is Samandriel. However, I go by Andi now, as I’m responsible for food inventory and the humans are hesitant to take a credit card from a ‘Samandriel’. Sounds too angelic, I’ve been told.” Alfie winced. “Angels aren’t welcome among the humans, not since the war, so…we have to pass as humans.”

“Andi,” Dean corrected, pointing at the kid and picking up his orange juice. The glass hovered in front of his face, and then he added, “Well, nice to meet you...again.”

Andi’s face melted into a pleased smile, his blue eyes twinkling. “Very, very good to meet you, Dean.”

Curiosity sneaking past the panic of earlier, Dean gestured around the table and asked, “What’s with the food anyway? If you’re angels, why you gotta eat?”

The two angels at the end of the table who hadn’t said anything both giggled. A tall, thin man with sandy hair and deep cheekbones looked up and smirked. 

“You can take away my grace, but you can never take away my pancakes with maple syrup,” the angel said.

“Benjamin,” the angel sitting opposite him— a girl with long brown hair and rosy cheeks—chuckled, rubbing at her eyes and shaking their head. “You’re behaving embarrassingly.”

Benjamin grinned, his pointy canine tooth poking out from between his lips. “You’d say the same thing about strawberries and whipped cream, Hael.”

Hael moaned into her orange juice and said in a starry tone, “Oooh. Like the breakfast special from that diner on the corner of Madison and Jeffrey? They dust powdered sugar on top, _and_ chocolate shavings! Who needs grace when you could spend eternity eating spoonfuls of whipped cream?”

The few angels cooking and washing dishes behind them all nodded in agreement.

“Wow,” Dean breathed, his brows shooting up onto his forehead. The angels in this universe were… They were something else. They were...almost human. It was uncanny.

Andi was grinning at his friends at the end of the table, but he turned back to Dean and said with residual laughter in his voice, “When we ripped out our grace to come to earth with Castiel following the war, we struggled to assimilate. It took years to fit in, to dress properly--I had a phase where I wore nothing but overalls. It took quite a long time to act as humans would. But the most striking thing we had to learn was how to function as humans; eating, sleeping, bathing. Without our grace, our vessels lack the energy to sustain themselves as they would’ve before.”

“So you...still got wings?” Dean asked. “Halos? Harps?”

“Harps?” Hael and Ben whispered to each other, not even trying to hide their eavesdropping.

“No harps or halos,” Andi said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward. “But wings, yes. They’re an integral part of our anatomy. They’re simply out of reach. We require grace to harness the magnitude of that kind of magic.”

Dean drained his orange juice and set it aside, wiping his mouth on his napkin and feeling a bit better. He should've known that eating only one meal a day would’ve made him feel unsteady. With breakfast in his belly, he felt calmer, his head clearer.

“I thought you _were_ grace. Like…” He paused, contemplating. “Back in my universe there was an angel who ripped out her grace and she fell to earth. Lost her memories and everything, had to grow up from a baby and stuff. Why are you all—” Dean gestured around the kitchen with a finger. “—totally okay?”

The angels behind Andi making food paused and exchanged looks. Hael and Benjamin lowered their gazes to their meals. 

Andi winced and shrugged a shoulder. “Not all of us made it. There are dozens still missing that meant to meet us on earth. I suppose they’re out there somewhere now, growing up human from infancy, unaware of the power they used to hold. But that’s the magnanimous mystery of our powers. Grace is unpredictable, but it is not, to answer your question, what makes us.”

“Each angel is an individual, a person, if you will,” Benjamin piped up from the end of the table, drawing their attention. “We think and breathe, and we operate our vessels just fine, but our grace was an energy that connected us to the powers granted to us by the Heavenly Host. Without it, we can still feel changes in Heaven because that is in our very makeup, but we bleed now, and eat, and sleep. The battery that used to charge us is dead.”

Dean smiled, despite himself. “So you gotta plug in to charge now.”

“Sleep, eat, yes. Though when ‘charged’, we don’t have powers, we just...don’t fall asleep all over the place and whine about being hungry,” Hael said laughing. “You should’ve seen us in the first few months of existing on earth without our grace. A bunch of uncoordinated, hungry, sleepy, badly-dressed losers. The sheer amount of exhausted, weepy breakdowns was embarrassing.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. He liked Hael. “Congratulations on getting the hang of humanity,” he said to her.

“Thanks. Only took us nearly ten years.” She flashed him a smile. “You’re catching on, Winchester.”

“That’s why you got guns,” Dean stated, remembering masked angels shooting automatic rifles and handguns at the fully-powered angels from Heaven. “And vests.”

“Yes,” Alfie nodded. “We can die as humans die. If it helps to understand, consider us humans with access to angel radio and all of life's secrets.”

“Simple,” Dean joked dryly.

“Simple,” Andi chuckled. Then, his eyes widened and he rose to his feet quickly. “Shoot! Speaking of guns, I was supposed to make more ammunition. Ah, Anael is going to kill me! She asked me to melt her some ammo _hours_ ago.”

Anael. Right, that was Jo’s official angel name. That explained why she’d looked at him like he’d had two heads that time he called her ‘Jo’ in the alleyway.

Dean got to his feet, too, finished with his meal and intrigued. He followed Andi to the sink and put his plate inside to soak. “Yeah, what’s in those guns anyway? They can hurt angels, I saw you guys take one down.”

Andi curled his finger over his shoulder as he walked into the hallway. “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

Dean followed Andi out through the back hallway, stopping only to slide his feet into his boots and accept a random coat from a hook filled with coats of all shapes and sizes. Dean was starting to realize nothing belonged to anyone in the house; the angels truly lived in a communal settlement, where everything belonged to anyone. 

Andi explained as much when Dean had been a second from stepping outside without a scarf on. After giving Dean a scarf from a messy shelf of hats, mittens, and scarves—they had to be somewhere out in the midwest—Andi led him through the backfield towards a barn. He explained that they all made meals for each other, shared guns and clothing and beds, and took security shifts in teams that rotated every month. Andi was on night shift currently with about ten other angels, but was looking forward to going back on day shift.

“How do you guys have money for stuff?” Dean asked he watched Andi unlock a heavy lock and unwove chains from around the entrance of two big snowy barn doors.

“Well,” Andi replied, throwing aside the chains and hooking the lock on his pants before he hauled open the big barn doors, “for the first few years, we committed an alarming amount of credit card fraud; something Castiel insisted hunters had done for decades. Don’t know where he got that stupid idea, because there were a couple close calls with the police, but in the end, we all decided we’d work for our money. It was fair, it was more honest.”

“You...work?” Dean blinked, remembering Cas (“Steve”) in his blue Gas n’ Sip vest, and nearly laughing at the idea of this universe’s Castiel selling beef jerky to commuters with a bulletproof vest on. 

“Not me,” Andi laughed, gesturing for Dean to follow him into the barn. “We have about ten angels who work in town. They don’t fight with us in battle, they’ve elected to play their roles within our ranks as the breadwinners, if you will.”

A series of hanging lights turned on as Andi pushed up a lever by the door, revealing what wasn’t a barn full of hay and horses, but a workshop. There was a table saw and wheelbarrows beside piles of bagged cement and a work table. One another side was a brown wooden shelving unit lined in gloves and welding masks, just a few feet off from what looked like a black iron furnace.

Andi slid the door closed behind Dean and walked over to the shelving unit, shrugging off his jacket and resting it over a dusty wooden chair in the corner. As he returned to the unit, he began pulling on gloves and tapping at his chin as he stared at the helmets.

“They’ll go into town and work at shops, daycares, and even telemarketing firms,” Andi went on, slipping a heavy apron over his head and tying it behind his waist. “Over the years some have even gone to school, so the income levels vary, but their earnings go into a shared account and we buy our communal supplies from there. Food, clothing, housing, phone bills, medical care. Although,” Andi added with excitement, “Rachel’s recently received her certification, so she’s a registered nurse now. Most of our hurt and ill go through her first.”

Dean paced the barn, taking in the surroundings, even fiddling with a lock on another door of a storeroom near the back. “Damn, sounds like you all got your shit figured out.”

“Took a while. Hael was right when she said it was difficult at first. Castiel had experience on Earth, but not enough to know precisely how to behave as a human. There was...a learning curve.” Andi appeared behind Dean, a helmet on his head muffling his voice. Through the protective shield covering his face, Andi grinned. “Here, let me open that.”

Stepping aside, Dean watched Andi raise a finger and trace it along the wood of the otherwise inconspicuous storage room. Just like when Castiel had entered the main house, Andi’s finger left a trail of magenta magic that flared and sparkled, then faded away. The lock fell open and swayed on a chain keeping it attached to the door handle.

Dean’s jaw dropped when the door swung open.

Angel blades. About a hundred angel blades. Maybe more, all piled haphazardly on the floor.

“What the…” Dean shook his head, watching Andi walk into the room and bend to pick a couple off the floor. “Where did you get all of these?”

Andi stood and turned, snorting as he passed Dean, returning to the wooden desk. “They were ours. We use to be...a lot more angels, but through conflict, our numbers dwindled. Still, as we slay the alpha angels, we collect their blades. One blade makes about twenty bullets, and we replenish whatever number we’d used the last battle.”

“Won’t you run out someday?” Dean asked, following the angel, but standing back when Andi turned the nozzle atop a propane tank. 

“We’re hoping we won’t get there,” Alfie admitted, his face illuminated in orange from the top of the furnace as it roared to life. Whirling flames licked up from the top of the round opening. “We’re hoping to be back home in Heaven by then.”

Dean nodded. With a clench of his jaw, he said roughly, “You will be. Sooner rather than later if I got anything to do with it, kid.”

“I know,” Andi said, smiling behind the mask. “I have faith in Castiel. And I have faith in you, as the prophecy spake. Although,” he added, snorting as he put the blades into a strange smelting pot, “I’m forty thousand years old, young for an angel, certainly, but...I think _you’re_ the kid here, kid.”

Fair enough. Kid had a point.

Dean shook his head, his lip twitching a bit. Curious about the process, Dean settled in the dusty chair in the corner and watched Andi melt the blades. Later, he warmed his hands over the melting angel blades, much to Andi’s amusement, as he waited for Sam to wake and for the day to begin.

***

When Andi led Dean back from the barn, their skin warmed from the pretty impressive blacksmithing in the barn, Sam was standing with Castiel, Duma, and Hannah at the front of the house in the light dusting of snow that’d fallen overnight.

“Once you’ve led the A-team to distract the guards, I will lead the B-team to strike, coming in from the north end,” Castiel ordered, speaking to Duma, who had blood speckled on the side of her face and an impressive bruise on her jaw. “You’ll lead A-team from the south and steer the guards away, if not killing them entirely. Are you absolutely certain the demon wasn’t lying?”

Duma reached up to wipe the blood off her face, doing nothing more than just smearing it around. She sniffed hard and exhaled heavily, her breath curling in wispy clouds from between her lips. “I’m certain, Castiel. The demon said they’d been doing recon on the location for quite some time.”

“And you said they were following your car?” Sam asked, his arms over his chest, his heavy brow furrowed. Dean saw him shudder in the cold. “How’d you know?”

“I made a left,” Duma said bluntly, scowling. “And then I made four more lefts, and when the black car piled with black-eyed idiots didn’t leave me alone, I got the hint.”

Castiel groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “Duma, exercise more patience, please.”

As Dean and Andi made themselves known, lurking outside the small crowd, Sam walked around and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “They’ve found the location of Heaven’s gate.”

“We _think_ we have,” Castiel clarified, looking over his shoulder at Dean. “A small organization of demons followed Duma from the scene yesterday.”

“And they just _told_ you where Heaven’s gate was?” Dean asked skeptically, raising a brow at Duma.

The angel scowled, looking ticked-off at being questioned, but she nodded. “Yes. We fought, and I slaughtered four of them. The fifth gave into my questions after some forceful persuasion.”

“We’ve devised a plan,” Castiel said quietly, glancing around them to ensure they weren’t being heard. “We’re going to steal the grace of the alphas guarding the gates, and we’ll infiltrate Heaven that way. If we move quickly, they won’t know what hit them.”

Hannah stepped up to Duma, who was pressing her gloved fingers to her jaw tenderly and wincing. With a gentle hand on her arm, she advised, “Go see Rachel, she’ll assess you for any other wounds. And, please, Duma, tell no one of our plans. We don’t want to breed hope only to see it crushed, should this plan fail.”

Duma nodded and walked towards the house, her dark waves fluttering around her face, fallen from the messy ponytail atop her head.

Dean stepped up to Castiel, and he asked roughly, “You found a way into Heaven? You’ve got to take us with you, Castiel. Cas is up there and we gotta get to him quick before they hurt him or...or worse.”

Castiel raised his eyes from the ground and shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up, Dean. We will try. We’ll try with everything we’ve got, but this isn’t our first attempt to break into Heaven. And besides,” he added, quieter, a wince deepening the lines around his eyes, “time progresses differently up in Heaven. Your Castiel has been up there for weeks.”

Dean paled and Sam made a huffing noise of surprise from behind him.

Castiel looked between them, taking in their shocked faces, and he said apologetically, “Whatever they’ve planned for him...they’ve likely done it already.”

“You...think he’s dead?” Sam asked, his tone tight and mournful.

Castiel shook his head and rested his eyes on Dean, the lines around his mouth deepening as his dry lips pursed. “I think...he’ll be used for breeding. I think if they treat him like they treated the humans they’d used in their experiments, he might wish he was dead.”

Dean raised a hand to his eyes, shame be damned. He didn’t care what the angels thought of him, of his panic, of his grief. He whispered, “When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” Castiel replied. “We’ll have to send a team to recon, to ensure we know how to get there and how many guards we’ll be up against. Then, we’ll do a briefing with relevant soldiers and review the plan. At the light of dawn, we’ll head out.”

“No!” Dean burst out, shaking his hands near his head before they curled into fists. His eyes squeezed shut. _This was all his fault._ “T-That’s too long, we can’t leave him up there for them to just...just r-rape him and—”

His voice had crackled and grown weak near the end. God, his heart couldn’t take any more bullshit, it couldn’t handle anymore ache and death and trauma. _Cas, no. Not Cas, please._

Two strong hands held the side of his head and Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel break every rule of personal space and stand close. With his hands holding Dean’s head steady, he leaned in, his lips brushing Dean’s ear as he whispered barely louder than a breath, “If he has not given birth, Dean, he’s safe. They won’t hurt him like that. I promise. I _promise_ as long as he’s still carrying, he’ll be treated humanely.”

Castiel pulled away, but not before flashing Dean a tight smile. His hands lowered to his shoulders and gave them a gentle clap.

“How long’s he got?” Dean asked raspily, his shoulders sagging and hands dropping to his sides. Still, his heart beat fast in his chest. “Before...y’know.”

In his peripherals, he saw Sam look between them, confused. 

Cas shook his head. “I’m unsure. If he was on earth, months. Eight, nine. In Heaven? When his grace is comforted and stronger in our home? Weeks. Two, three.”

“ _What?!”_ Dean cried out. Hannah and Sam jumped at his outburst, his voice carrying over the open field. “You… You just said he’s been up there for weeks, and it’s only been a day here. If we don’t leave today, it’ll be another fucking coupla weeks, Castiel!”

Castiel, to his credit, did look regretful, but he nodded. “I understand your concern, Dean. But we die if we’re unprepared. I can’t risk losing more of my angels, and I cannot risk losing you. Not again. I did a piss poor job of hiding you before and your blood is on my hands, still, after so long.”

“But Cas, he—” Dean started, gesturing to the sky, anger slowly soaking with desperation.

“He’s strong,” said Hannah, stepping into his vision, coming up behind Castiel and resting a hand on his arm, rubbing it and giving it a visible squeeze. “Your Castiel is strong, Dean. He can handle himself until we can—”

“I can’t listen to this,” Dean snapped, stepping back. “You’re gonna risk leaving him up there for them to—”

“I have been where he is right now.” Castiel interjected, his tone firmer, his eyes flashing. “I _know_ he’s resilient. You don’t think _I_ would know?”

Dean felt Sam’s hand between his shoulder blades and drew a little bit of comfort from that. But he drew most of his comfort from the resolve in Castiel’s eyes.

Of course. Of course, Castiel would know. 

***

Inside the swell of his stomach pushing out against the thin white cotton of Castiel’s t-shirt, his nephil kicked, its heel pressing into Castiel’s palm.

“Stop it,” Castiel murmured hoarsely, sighing and letting his tired eyes close against the harsh light shining down on him in his small white cell. He was already on the precipice of vomiting again—for the fifth time since he’d woken up—he hardly needed encouragement from a wriggling nephil’s flailing its toes into his stomach.

While it had taken weeks for Castiel to even truly register he was indeed pregnant—it had been a rough pill to swallow, to know the angels had been right—he’d slipped into the habit of talking to the little thing. He knew it was a very one-sided conversation, but the angels barely talked to him except to utter threats of violence if he didn’t comply with their invasive and aggressive routine examinations of his vessel. If he didn’t talk to the nephil, he wouldn’t ever have an excuse to use his vocal cords.

Not that he needed to use his vocal cords. Much like with Kelly, he could _feel_ the nephil communicate. It was small, barely bigger than a cantaloupe under his muscled stomach, but it sent him feelings of comfort and ease when he felt the spike of fear, or anger, or grief.

Often, when he thought about Jack, he grieved the most.

The nephil inside him would shift and radiate calming energy, or at least, it would try. But the magnitude of Castiel’s grief was too big for the kind gesture of his nephil. The grief oozed from his pores and slid down his face in quiet moments when the angels left him truly alone. In the frenzy that had been their arrival in this unsettling universe, Castiel hadn’t had a moment to think. The second his feet had touched down in this universe, he’d been consumed with that heat, the unending feeling of wrongness and uneasiness. But now, when the heat was gone and he had nothing but his thoughts to occupy him as he sat in the bright white cell for hours upon days upon weeks, the rumble of misery echoed in Castiel’s mind every time he let himself indulge in memories.

Jack was...dead. He’d been burnt to ashes by _God_. He hadn’t been hit by a car, or killed by a demon, or bitten by a vampire. He was in the Empty—or was he? Was he even in the Empty? Would God have been so merciful, to let Castiel’s son just go to sleep for eternity? That may have been too much of a mercy for that horrible, self-important little man to have bestowed.

Jack was _dead_.

Truly, certainly _dead._

The nephil kicked, as if to say, _mother, stop._ It sent soft, warm sensations tingling up through Castiel’s core, whispering to the surface of his skin, as if sunlight had touched his face…

But quickly, Castiel’s skin cooled and he raised a hand up to his eye, running a knuckle over the dip of the deep bags under his eyes, sweeping up a rogue tear.

It had been weeks that he’d been up in Heaven. Poked and prodded and gawked at by angels who were very nearly thrumming at the idea of Castiel giving birth so they could shove their hideous knots into him and inseminate him again. Like he was some cow. Like he was livestock. A breeder for them.

Weeks he’d been locked in this white room with the coverless white bed and white basin that he could be sick in, and that one meaningful steel table tucked into the corner with leg stirrups that made him nauseous just looking at. The flat steel was clean and sterile, but the legs of the table had splotches of deep, dried burgundy-brown that made Castiel feel like they’d left it like that on purpose. They wanted to breed fear in him, they wanted to hint at the horrific pain that was to come, or perhaps at the fate of others who’d they tried to breed with.

He heard them talk about ‘the others’. The ‘humans’ who hadn’t carried their seed to term. They’d committed atrocities, and Castiel was ashamed to admit the scare-tactics were working. As the weeks went by, his resolve to escape grew weaker. As his nephil developed and grew, he felt less and less inclined to try to escape lest he hurt it, or worse, lest the angels tried to hurt it.

Her.

Unless the angels tried to hurt _her_.

His daughter. His and Dean’s daughter.

...and that was the worst part of being captive for weeks, wasn’t it? So much time had passed and Castiel hadn’t heard a single whisper of an attempt to save him. No alarms had rung over his head indicating an intruder. There hadn’t been any rushes of angels past his door, or a shift in his grace to indicate that a human had entered Heaven.

_Nothing._

Dean hadn’t come for him. The nephil had grown nearly to term—he kept hearing the angels say ‘the abomination’ was to be birthed any hour now, and yet, Dean hadn’t come for him. 

It had to be expected, though, wasn’t it? Dean had put a gun to their son’s head, and distrusted every word from Castiels’ mouth for how long—years, months now? Their bodies had come together like they’d been made for nothing else in the world but to be connected. And Dean had kissed him with more conviction he’d been seen demonstrated in years, and yet… The moment the heat passed, he’d looked dumbfounded by their actions, his face white and eyes wide with shock. 

The second Castiel had stepped out of that disgusting little bathroom, Dean’d been sick at the sight of him. 

And now, Dean had left him alone to be Heaven’s living, warm incubator that pushed out wriggling fledglings from between its legs, and only existed solely to be refilled.

Dean had left him alone, and he’d left his daughter alone. 

The daughter he would be revolted to know he’d conceived with the angel that irritated and irked him so.

“Stop. It’s not working,” Castiel whispered to his nephil as it wriggled and tried with all its might to fill his chest with soft, fluttering feelings like butterflies dancing in sunlight. The gesture was kind and Castiel felt relief that the thing inside him was _good_ and _pure_ , but he felt the effort was going to waste. Nothing could make him happy in this moment.

He’d been abandoned, and he was too tired and sick to save himself. 

For weeks he’d tried to escape. Every time that door opened, he threw himself against the guards and tried to run. But this Heaven was laid out differently, and no matter what door he tried, he ran into a brick wall—sometimes figurative, but often literally. He had grace, but it was captive as well, unable to activate past the warded cuffs around his wrists. The first time he’d escaped, before he was front-heavy and riddled with nausea, he’d managed to knock out one of the escorts meant to take him to an examination, and he’d stolen the angel’s blade. He’d tried to break the warding by crashing the blade down on the iron cuffs, but all his attempts resulted in nothing more than a few sparks and ultimately, being thrown back into a wall by whatever magic kept the restraints on his body—

Castiel sat up as a horrible squeezing pain riddled his back and he gasped, pawing at the bed under him to keep his balance. 

“Stop it,” he rattled out in a breath at his nephil. “That hurts, you’re not being helpf—ahh!”

His belly, which while being sheathed in his natural muscle had taken to being rather soft lately, squeezed and hardened, momentarily making Castiel feel like he was going to be split in two. The cry that rushed up from the horrible squeeze of his stomach, up into his throat was muffled as he curled forward, his chin tucking into his chest and his eyes squeezing shut.

For a horrendous few moments, voluntary thought shut off as radiating pain shook through his vessel, making his hands shake. When the worst of it was over, Castiel forced himself to swallow a hefty breath and raise his head. He had to blink hard a few times to clear the noise from the edge of his vision, but as soon as he was able to, Castiel slid off the bed and crawled over to the corner at the end of his bed, beside the front door. It was one of the few places in the room that wasn’t easily seen from the slot in the door. It was the only privacy he was afforded.

The moment he sat himself down, back pressed to the wall, his stomach hardened again and squeezed. The pressure was so disconcerting that he felt the silly compulsion to push against the wall with his hand as if that’d help it anyway. It didn’t do much for pain, but the cool, hard wall under his hot palm was somewhat soothing. Again, he had to make a concerted effort to not make a sound, although a whimper escaped past his tightly closed lips, disguised as an exhale.

“What are you doing?” he whispered to the nephil, rubbing a hand over his stomach, more to soothe himself than the rebellious fledgling. 

Under his hand, he felt a shift and inside him he felt what could only be described as a _drop_. It was almost like she’d been floating until she’d found her ideal position and locked in. 

With that, Castiel felt blood leave his face and he pressed his palm to his neck, as if trying to transfer the chill from the wall to his hot skin. 

“You cannot vacate right now, nephil,” Castiel breathed, his swallows loud and as abrupt as the sweat the was gathering at the base of his spine. “This is no place for you up here. It’s not time, these people, these angels seek to hurt—”

Castiel jumped and pressed his hands to his ears as they filled with sudden static and loud ringing. He knew what it meant, but it seemed so out of place in this world—

_“Gonna save you, Cas.”_

The static had stopped. Inside of Castiel’s head he heard the one beautiful sound he thought he’d never hear again, or want to hear again…

Dean.

Dean was praying.

_“You and that nephil... I’m not gonna let you rot up there—”_

Dean’s voice was thick and rattling like he was upset. His breaths in Castiel’s head were loud and echoing.

He… He knew about their creation, their nephil and...he wanted to save them, regardless...

_“I ain’t gonna leave you behind—”_

Castiel’s hands dragged from his ears to his eyes, his fingers shaking. Dean hadn’t forgotten about him. He hadn’t given up.

_“I...I promise I’ll fix things. We’re gonna get you both back to our universe, and we’re gonna save Jack too, I promise. Just hang on.”_

It was _such_ a relief to hear Dean’s voice. Despite all the history and unfinished business between them that required resolving, Castiel knew by the desperation and pain in Dean’s tone that despite their differences, no one had been abandoned. Dean was coming, Sam was coming. 

Inside him he felt the pressure build again, and down the hall he heard what he knew to be Naomi’s heels clicking over marble, and he wondered…

Would Sam and Dean come too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN PEOPLE, I WANNA HEAR YOUR SPECULATION. Who's the spy? Have we met them yet? What do you think of the angel community? 
> 
> Leave your comments below, they give me life. ;)


	7. Train Track Villain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, babes!
> 
> Mega thanks to son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for beta'ing this chapter for me. <3 
> 
> **Warning:** There is a non-con scene in this chapter, as well as a graphic birth all in one scene--the beginning of the scene is denoted by this scene break: *_*_*_*_*_* and goes until the end of the chapter. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SKIP, PLEASE FEEL FREE. I'VE SUMMARIZED THE IMPORTANT PLOT POINTS IN THE END NOTES.

While his brain had been plagued with swirling, ever-more-catastrophic-thoughts as Dean had tried to sleep, eventually, he’d fallen unconscious. As revved up as he was to break his way into Heaven and save Cas, two days of no-sleep was still too difficult for even three-hours-a-night Dean Winchester. So, to the sounds of his angel roommates tossing and turning in bed around him and Sam’s soft snoring, Dean’d sunk into blankness eventually.

Still, when he’d gotten the necessary few hours of slumber over and done with, he’d opened his eyes with near full-alertness. The sun was still rising, but he was up on his feet and ready to go. Not waiting to wake Sam, Dean beelined it downstairs, half-pleased to see angels loading up bags with weapons and some serious expressions on many of the faces in the house.

Out in the front yard, he saw Jo--Anael, as Castiel called her--briefing a group of soldiers who stood at the ready, listening carefully.

“Where’s Castiel?” Dean asked sharply, letting the drapes flap back into place, done observing the front yard.

Rachel, who was making one of the infirmary beds up with clean sheets, looked up and replied quietly, “In the back with Hannah. Last I checked, they were refuelling the van.”

Dean mumbled thanks and weaved through bustling angels to the back door. After stepping through it and closing it behind him, Dean made to walk down the back steps into the yard, but he took pause, his hand gripping a post bordering the veranda.

Perhaps the van had been in the process of being refuelled, because the gas cap was open and gaping, but the red jerrycan of gasoline was on the floor by the rear wheel. The tanned, scarred hand that was supposed to be tipping the nozzle was buried in Hannah’s hair. Dean leaned on the railing with his elbows, shaking his head as Castiel kissed Hannah like his life depended on it, one hand cradling her face while the other was buried in her loosely tied hair, pulling a few strands loose.

They pulled away from each other for a moment, but Dean suddenly was aware he was intruding on a private moment when the angels pressed their foreheads together, their faces drained a bit. Behind Castiel’s back, Hannah gripped the material of his sweater in a fist.

They were going into battle, after all. They had a reason to look so anxious. They had a reason to kiss like that.

Dean tried not to unpack the twisting of jealousy in his stomach but was oddly pleased that the feeling wasn’t entirely overwhelming. Nowhere in his brain did he think _‘mine’_ when he looked at this Castiel. No, that feeling was strictly reserved for the Cas who wore a trenchcoat and blue tie, the one he was going to save even if it killed him.

Hannah spotted him watching and murmured something to Castiel. The two broke apart, Castiel looking over his shoulder at Dean, and Hannah turning away to pick the red jerrycan back up and resume their task.

Embarrassed to be caught watching, Dean raised a hand to wave casually as Cas nodded at him and began walking over, his boots crunching in the dried dirt and dusting of snow that'd fallen overnight.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel rasped at him, having the decency to look bashful as he wiped the back of his hand across his well-kissed mouth.

“I’ll say,” Dean muttered with a smirk as Castiel climbed up the steps and walked around Dean, settling against the fencing beside him.

“I apologize,” Castiel said with a clearing of his throat, resting his elbows on the railing. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you. We typically limit displays of affection to instances where we’re alone but...” Castiel scratched at his stubble and shrugged a shoulder. “You know.”

‘Embarrassed’ wasn’t the word Dean would’ve used for the knot in his stomach that’d come with the initial shock of seeing the visage of Cas kissing someone else.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t sweat it.” Dean tried to laugh but it came out kind of flat and pathetic. “I’m just surprised...I mean, well, uh…”

Cas was staring at him curiously, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

Dean exhaled heavily and allowed himself to ask quietly, “I just thought you’d been mated to…’

_“I could not imagine a universe where I would be mated with anyone else.”_

That’s what this Castiel had said earlier.

Blue eyes softened and the crease between Castiel’s brows became shallow. His lashes fluttered for a moment as clear wave of grief flashed across his features, but then Castiel nodded. “I had not been mated to the Dean Winchester of this universe, no. We were true mates, but...I had not been marked. There...hadn’t been time. We never…” Dean watched Castiel’s mouth twisted for a moment as he seemed to roll trial words around on his tongue. Then, “It was complicated. What we had was complicated. Nothing was easy back then.”

Dean didn’t need Castiel to explain. He knew exactly what he meant to say because he’d lived it. In those first two years of knowing Cas… The world had been a mess, their lives had been confusing and chaotic. Dean must’ve been in love with him back then, too, but…

There hadn’t been time. It was complicated. Nothing had been easy back then.

Hell, it wasn’t easy now, either.

Castiel’s soft eyes dropped from Dean’s face and he focused on his own clasped hands. Tanned fingers picked at his nails that looked like they’d been chewed on regularly. “I was madly in love with you back then. From the very moment I rescued you from the fires of Perdition, I knew you were my mate. I’d never had one in Heaven, not like the other angels.”

“Weird, right?” Dean asked, unsure.

Castiel nodded, raising a hand to his face and chewing at his thumbnail as if annoyed with it. “I didn’t realize it was love at first. I thought it was hormones, pheromones, or a bond that was…”

“Profound,” Dean offered, borrowing words from a dear friend, when Cas seemed to pause too long to think.

“Exactly,” Castiel said, linking his fingers again, ceasing his chewing. His eyes looked far away, and then they pinched at the corners, his thumb lingering on his lip as he seemed to forget to chew on the nail. “And then you died, and it was like the colour from the world drained away, and all the feelings I’d learned to process withered and decayed. I felt empty, hollow. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel another emotion again.”

Unfortunately, Dean knew exactly how Castiel felt. He remembered walking around in his own life, feeling like a shell of his former self, just a fake-person in the world where Cas was dead and burned on that funeral pyre. Food tasted like nothing, warmth had no meaning, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

He needed to save Cas.

He needed to save Cas before the angels executed their evil plans, after they…

“Castiel,” Dean piped up, rubbing at his mouth and staring at the graceless angel who stared unseeingly at the dead grass lining the path between the house and the barn. “Cas is up there right now, and he’s…” It was too weird, to say the word ‘pregnant’ about his best friend, his… “Have you ever...y’know…”

Cas blinked hard and pulled his eyes up to meet Dean’s stare.

“Have you ever given birth?” Dean asked, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

Castiel paused, looking pained and confused, but then he said, “I...think so. I‘d heard whispers that I had. I...have a broken memory of childbirth, but I don't know who my children are.” He nodded out at a group of angels who trudged over to the barn, no doubt to retrieve ammo.

“My children could be anyone here, or none of them. I have no _real_ memories of pregnancy, not anything of substance. Just flashes of recollection through a haze of Naomi’s mind-reprogramming. But,” Castiel said with a long, thin sigh, “I had been an omega in Heaven, so I must have made fledglings for them at some point. I’d only truly confirmed and learned of my births after I fell. Ishim told me I’d produced many children.”

With a jolt in his stomach, Dean scowled. “And he never thought to _tell you_ who your kids were?”

“He didn’t think it was wise. I said...I get attached, he said I would make stupid choices to protect them.” Castiel shrugged and didn’t look as if he was going to say more. But then he raised his brows and glanced at Dean, adding lightly, “Although, I did ask him to confirm that Hannah wasn’t one of my children. That would have been...awkward.”

A surprise to them both, Dean laughed abruptly into his hand and Castiel cracked a rare grin.

“Dude,” Dean said, chortling and lowering his hand back down to the railing. “Gross.”

Castiel chuckled quietly. “I’d had my eye on her since my grief over Dean’s death passed and I learned how to feel organic attraction, so...I had to know.”

“Organic attraction?”

“Attraction that occurred without the prompting of pheromones,” Castiel clarified, rubbing at his hair. “Once Lucifer sterilized us, our bodies stopped producing the pheromones that sent us into heat. The concept of true mates and hormonal coercion was a thing of the past. We could choose our mates.”

A horrible niggling feeling sent tingles up Dean’s neck and he sighed, rubbing at his mouth.

Beside him, Cas shifted against the railing before Dean felt his hand on his back. “What is it, Dean?” Castiel asked. “What bothers you?”

Even several multiverses over, Castiel in any form seemed not to have any issue knowing Dean’s body language and intuitively knowing what to ask.

"It's just…" Dean exhaled heavily, about to ask the question that'd been plaguing him since Chuck revealed their lives had been nothing but a story. "Do you think you loved this Dean because you _loved him_ or because it'd been...part of a plan?"

"A plan?" Castiel asked, tilting his head and squinting his eyes.

Yeah, a fucking plotline. "Hormones," Dean said gruffly. "Alpha-omega stuff, or whatever."

Cas' face softened and across his lips passed a ghost of what could've been a smile. "Does it matter?" he asked quietly. "Just because it was predetermined doesn't mean none of it was real. We were real. The feelings, the loyalty. What Dean and I went through those many years ago… We laid out our own choices in the journey, even if the destination was set. Why do you ask?"

It was Dean's turn to tip his chin down and stare at his hands. He picked at his nails, too. A habit he'd always had.

"Just been wondering lately if...if I ever had any choice at all."

To his surprise, Castiel's shoulder bumped into his, tugging his gaze back up to blue eyes that were kind and seemingly endless.

"Did you have feelings for Castiel before the heat? Before hormones dictated how you felt? Before, when you felt like you had control over yourself in your own universe?"

Ten years flashed behind Dean's eyes. Ten years of knotted feelings in his stomach when Cas died or was hurt, and sparks of joy in those fleeting, calm moments where he and Cas got to just hang out. His small laugh, the rasp of his disapproving tone, the rumble of his voice when he was perplexed. A tilted head, a squinting of blue eyes, the crinkling of laugh-lines. Cas defied Zachariah, and Crowley, and Dagon. He disappeared into a lake, and fell to his knees with the light behind his eye extinguishing. He hugged Sam, and Jack, and finally, Dean. He protected Kelly with every rebellious streak in him, and threw a Molotov cocktail at Michael.

For every memory, Dean felt the extreme of each emotion. When he lost Cas, it was crushing. When Cas made him laugh or smile, or when Cas came back from being seemingly dead, Dean's soul felt light and soaring. The anger was hot like hellfire when they fought, and when he could pull Cas into his arms in Purgatory, when he was safe, the relief was so overwhelming Dean felt like his knees would give out.

When he'd secretly acknowledged only to himself many years ago that he didn't love Cas as a brother, that he was and had always been in love, well…

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "It was real."

The skin beside Castiel’s eyes crinkled and he actually smiled, the white teeth peeking between dry lips. "Of course it was. I know paths deviated in our worlds, but I feel confident speaking on your Castiel's behalf; I knew I’d been in love with you since the moment I touched you in Hell, and I promise, Dean, it was more than hormones. It was...deeper.”

"And then he died," Dean murmured.

While the man beside him looked like Cas, and spoke like Cas, and had lived nearly the same life as Cas, Dean could see this Castiel had been broken in completely different ways.

"Yes," Castiel breathed, raising his eyes again to watch Hannah tug the jerrycan out from the van and begin to lug it into the barn, swinging it at her side.

Dean watched her, too, for a second and then he swallowed audibly, asking the question he'd been dying to have answered since he met this graceless angel.

"How did I die?" he asked. "I know Sam and I got tied to some tracks and… What happened?"

At the door of the barn, Hannah was twining the chains through the handle, pausing to look up at Anael, who stood close, talking in what looked to be hushed tones. Both women looked serious and focused.

Castiel was picking at his nails again. “Heaven began killing off your friends as they grew desperate. Lucifer was recruiting the darkest witches of this world, the ones who could harness every available element to create him a strong enough vessel, one that would not decay or fall short in any way. Dean and Sam, they wanted no part of this war. At first, they were angry, defiant. They wanted to save their friends, their family, and everyone else's friends and families… But then they hid.”

“That doesn’t sound like us,” Dean pointed out. “We would never run, we’d never hide. We’d...have sacrificed ourselves.”

Castiel shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t. You would have sacrificed yourselves--singular, Dean _or_ Sam--but not each other. That was always your weakness, you two. You never wanted to see the other die. It was your downfall. And...eventually, all your friends were dead. When they finally took Bobby Singer, you and your brother were hysterical. You nearly lost your minds. At one point, you begged me to kill you both so you’d be freed from your destinies and from being in this world where you’d been responsible for the death of everything you knew. Sam almost said yes to Lucifer just to see the suffering end, and you almost said yes to Michael but...”

Dean’s words of protest got caught in his throat.

Castiel’s eyes were pained and pinched. A tiny bead of blood grew at the corner of his nail where he picked too aggressively. “But I’d given up too much to protect you. I knew how terribly you didn’t want to give in, even though you said otherwise near the end. And...I loved you. I loved you desperately and I wanted to fix things. I wanted to fix everything. So I hid you both. Took you out to the country and did some spellwork; hid you both under glamours so no one would recognize you. The property was warded well, or so I’d thought.”

Inside Dean’s chest, his heart ached and seemed to shrink in pain as Castiel’s face pinched, looking worn and grieving. His eyes, even from the side, looked wet like the anguish was still fresh even all these years later.

“Before, early on when Lucifer had made one of his first attempts to convert Sam, Dean had made one of his quippy barbs--one of the things I was fond of the most, even though it took me years to appreciate it. He’d—” Cas laughed a bit, dipping his head, long brown hair flopping onto his forehead. His laugh lines deepening around his mouth, Cas rasped and did finger quotes over the railing, “He’d told Lucifer he was nothing more than ‘some cartoon villain’ who ‘twirled his douchey moustache and tied damsels to train tracks’, he told him that...that he wasn’t scared of him.”

Dean groaned and rubbed at his face. “So he tied me up to train tracks.”

The amusement on Castiel’s face dropped away with his smile and he looked entirely broken, staring out into the backfield with so much pain in his eyes that Dean nearly asked him to stop telling his story. “Yes,” he whispered. “He tricked me. Led me away from the farm to follow some dead lead in the city. Once I’d disappeared, he broke through the wards with his new vessel, his final vessel. I imagine the magic I’d used was nothing to him at that point. The small farmhouse you’d been living in was burned to the ground when I returned.”

“How did you find out what happened to me and Sam?” Dean asked, feeling sick to his stomach at the visual of Cas arriving back at a smouldering black smudge that used to be his safe house, where he thought he’d been protecting them.

“I followed the scent of sulphur,” Castiel breathed, his eyes shut closed. Dean could practically see the memories replaying behind his eyelids. “I found what used to be your bodies all around the tracks. Parts of you had been dragged for a quarter-mile. But I knew it was you.”

Dean watched Castiel’s shaking hand come up and reach under his shirt. A breath punched out past Dean’s lips involuntarily, a gut reaction to seeing his old amulet swinging from a thin chain around Castiel’s neck.

“I found this,” Castiel said hoarsely, his eyes opening and settling on Dean’s face mournfully. “I found it in a tatter of red plaid and blood in the grass nearby. And...later, when I had a run-in with Lucifer’s lackeys as I rejoined Heaven’s ranks to fight in the war, they showed me a…” Castiel looked a bit sick, too, his eyes staring and unblinking, but glossy as he went back in time, reliving trauma right before Dean’s eyes. “They’d _taken a video_.”

“Of me and Sam?” Dean asked in shock, revolted at the very mental image.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, his throat clicking as he swallowed. “They said they’d recorded it just for me, so I could see what it looked like when two grown heroes were reduced to nothing but screaming children. They wanted me to see that I’d put my faith in nothing but sacks of meat and blood. Mud-monkeys. Humans. And...so they made me watch. You both seemed to _know_ it was the end. They tied you back-to-back so you wouldn’t even have the dignity of seeing each other before you died. You...told one another that you loved each other and then as the train came closer, I could hardly hear anything, but...you screamed. You both did. And...I still hear the sounds. Ten years later and I still hear them sometimes when it gets too quiet.”

Castiel was the picture of misery. His eyes were wet, and his face was pale. The lines around his eyes that creased when he laughed were now deep with sorrow. Still, he stared at Dean, drinking in his features, his eyes darting around like he was trying to memorize him.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” Dean whispered, slipping up with the nickname, but unwilling to take it back when it seemed to bring Castiel some kind of peace. He saw the effect it had on him, the draining of anguish, even if it was just a little.

“You used to call me that,” Castiel breathed, watching Dean’s lips twist into a tight smile. “You used to call me that all the time. I wish I’d appreciated it back then.”

“We never really appreciate things until they’re gone,” Dean murmured, shrugging his shoulders. Immediately, he thought of Jack’s corpse in the graveyard, and the ash of Cas’ wings in the mud after sliding off of Lucifer’s blade. He thought of Cas in the graveyard asking Dean to stand down, and then of Cas disappearing in the alpha angels’ clutches.

“I thought the grief of your death would quell after you died,” Castiel went on, reaching up to rub at his eyes, “because, like you, a part of me wondered if the love between us was a mere hormonal connection, but...the grief lingered. It took years to recover, but—” Castiel lowered his hand and he turned back to lean his elbows on the railing, mirroring Dean’s posture.

Hannah was clapping Anael on the back and the women shared a smile before Anael trudged back towards the front of the house and Hannah returned to the van, throwing a bag of ammo into the back.

Castiel went on. “Then Hannah was there, as Lucifer fell and Michael abandoned us and Heaven turned on me. Once we’d settled on Earth and I had some time to grieve...I realized that I was allowed to move on. I realized there is a capability to love more than one person at the same time. I could still love your memory, and love the humans, and love her, too.”

After Castiel’s story, after watching the stages of grief plain as day on his face, Dean didn’t feel the usual flicker of jealousy as he asked calmly, “You love her?”

Finally, Castiel smiled. It was soft and genuine, as was his voice when he murmured, “Very much. The one upside to being sterile. No pheromones means freedom. Funny, I always wanted freedom, and when I initially got it, I resented it. Now...I have her. My only regret is that I can’t give her children.”

That was a surprise, Dean thought at first, but then… No, it made sense. Too much heart was always Castiel’s problem, wasn’t it? It’s what’d made him such a good father to Jack, and such a good guardian of humanity.

“Perhaps it’s my omega genes,” Castiel said quietly, though he smirked a bit, glancing over at Dean. “I’m good with children, I must admit. As is Hannah. She used to care for the fledglings in Heaven, no one was more trusted than she was to raise them. She...was traumatized after they took her child-bearing ability away from her, from us. It took her a long time to come to terms with it, and...I can see that years later, it stings. Sometimes, still—” Castiel lowered his voice. “--she mentions that she would’ve wanted to raise children with me, when the war ended, when the chaos faded.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said again, not knowing what else to say. He wished he knew.

Castiel peered over at him and admitted with a little mirthless huff, “Don't apologize, Dean. Besides, I don’t know if I would’ve made a good father.”

Remembering Jack, remembering Cas’ warm smiles for his son, and the gentle but firm words of guidance and love he’d always had for him, Dean stared at Castiel, their gazes locked. Suddenly, he knew what to say.

“You would have,” Dean said confidently, his tight smile loosening into a genuine one. Unsure of why it was so important to him to reaffirm the idea, Dean reached across the short distance between them and rested a hand on the back of Castiel’s neck, noticing the blue eyes widen and brighten with a spark. Dean leaned in and whispered, “You would’ve been the best.”

And somehow, for some reason, Castiel’s face split into a big smile. He believed him, he could just tell.

*_*_*_*_*_*

_I’m going to die._

Castiel slid down the wall, his shirt shoved into his mouth, the fabric damp with saliva, but thick and muffling his moans. His legs trembled under him as his round stomach tightened and hardened, shuddering another wave of agonizing pain through his body. Between his legs he felt pressure and stretching. Every instinct was to push down, to curl his chin towards his chest and _push,_ but there were voices in the hallway outside of his cell and he didn’t want to be detected.

But the baby inside him disagreed. She didn’t care for subtlety or Castiel’s wish to stay unseen and unheard. She didn’t care that he felt like he was dying, like his body was going to split in two, torn down the middle until he bled out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, the fabric falling from his mouth, the word borrowed from Dean and Sam’s vocabulary slipping from his worried lips like the sweat that dribbled down his chin, dripping onto his hand fisted into his shirt.

He needed to push or he’d die. He just knew it.

Almost as quickly as the last one faded, another cramp followed the first. Riding out a contraction with the shirt between his teeth and a palm against his mouth aiding in keeping him quiet, Castiel dragged himself on hands and knees back over to the corner by the door, where if they looked in, he’d be hidden. He’d been pacing, trying to talk his daughter into staying put, though that’d been just as useful as ramming his head into a wall to stop a headache.

With shaking hands, he pulled the thin pants off his hips and down his legs, kicking them aside, pausing to pant as everything tightened again--pain exploded between his legs and seemed to break everything in his lower back. He felt blood slip against his skin and under him on the floor. He was sure, after this was all done with, he’d be paralyzed, his spine broken into pieces, his pelvis shattered. The child wouldn’t fit, there was no way.

A whimper escaped, pushed up his throat. He braced one hot palm against the wall, seeking reprieve from the cold surface.

His knees felt bruised as he pushed them onto the floor, compulsively reacting to the involuntary feeling of pushing. Days ago, he hadn’t even known he’d possessed this anatomy. Now, it was all he could feel. Arms, legs, his face, his skin, it all faded away and there as nothing but burning, pressure, and squeezing between his legs and in his lower back.

When his body pushed for him, when it refused to tolerate his rebellion anymore, when his daughter naturally descending with the force of a contraction, Castiel screamed.

The doors burst open before he could catch his breath again.

“No. _No_ ,” he gasped. “Nonono—”

There were feet all around him, then arms hoisting him to his feet and all Castiel could do was weakly fight back because nothing about the way he was being handled was natural as his child tried to force its way out of his body through a hole that most certainly could not accommodate its exit.

He tried to resist but the angels yanked him onto the prepared table, the one he’d been staring at for weeks and refusing to acknowledge was meant for him. They slammed his back down onto it and Castiel tilted his head back, screaming through sobs that ripped through him. The cold metal did nothing to soothe the pain, it just crushed the splintered remains of his tailbone to dust, or so it felt.

“No,” he moaned, shaking his head. When he pried his eyes open, he saw Naomi standing between his legs as two angels--Malakai and Nathanial--held them open. Shaking, he looked around with wide, wild eyes at the unfamiliar angels by his head that didn’t look at him, who simply held his fists by his shoulders and waited for orders from Naomi.

“You’ve made a mess,” Naomi tutted, pushing at his bloody thighs, her fingers coated in red. With glittering eyes and a flickered brow, she mused, “But you’ve gotten rather far on your own. Thank you, Castiel.”

“Leave me alone,” Castiel rasped, his voice uneven and broken, his vocal cords feeling shredded beyond repair. “Leave me al—”

A scream, and more pushing. It was beyond his control now. Muscles pushed and squeezed, forcing the child further down. Without meaning or wanting to, he bore down, his neck taut and rigid as he stared blindly up at the white, blank wall behind him.

Between his legs, he felt the hot gush of blood and pure fire.

“I’m going to die,” he whispered in a weak breath.

Naomi’s cold fingers brushed his hair from his face, leaving behind warm blood.

“You’re doing well, our beloved omega. You’re doing very well. You were made for this. You’ll bear many fledglings for us. This sacred body, your perfect vessel, was made to serve Heaven. It was made to do just this. Only this.”

Her fingers stroked his cheek and she murmured, “Now, one final push. You’re almost done.”

His vision went white, hot pain contracting every muscle in his body and he knew, somewhere in the distance, at the end of his tunnel vision, through the licking flames and roar of his blood rushing in his ears, it was almost done.

Then all sound and movement rushed back to him like a speeding train and Castiel screamed, one long, agonized sound—

He felt it slide out, the rest of his baby, and the angels all gasped.

They released him. As soon as their death grips loosened and their fingers left his body, Castiel began to weep, tremors shuddering his limbs, and he rolled onto his side on the table, closing his legs and pressing his bloody hands to his mouth.

There was murmuring and then...a cry.

A singular, gurgling cry. And then a few more small mews and hiccups from a life only seconds old.

“A-A nephil. She’s beautiful, shining with grace,” Naomi breathed reverently. “An abomination, and yet… She’s an omega, too. She’ll do, when she’s older, when she’s matured into a seraph, won’t she?”

They’d forgotten about him. Their voices pointed away from him, but he could still hear them over the ragged sobs escaping his throat and the rattling of the shaking table under his head.

“It worked,” Castiel heard a voice say, a familiar voice--Zachariah. Perhaps he’d been one of the angels at Castiel’s head, holding his hands down like titanium chains wrapped in barbed wire. “I can’t believe it. It’s real. Castiel’s done it. This is a miracle.”

“Give me my child,” Castiel whispered dully, his eyes wet and vision blurry. All of him was wet; bloody, sweaty, his face slick with tears. As his child’s cries crescendoed, his heart seemed to swell and his stomach squeezed in panic as he realized they might not give her back. “She’s mine.”

A strength he thought would never return to his body came back with a vengeance as he lifted his head and saw Nathanial take the slippery wriggling newborn from Naomi.

The baby screamed, her shrieking growing distant as Nathanial turned and headed for the door.

“She’s mine, Naomi, _no!”_ Castiel pleaded, losing sight of his daughter as the angels closed in on him again.

Before Castiel could launch his broken body off the table, before he could make it more than two stumbling steps in pursuit of his child, three angels were hauling him back onto the table with no mercy and all of their strength.

“NO!” Castiel shrieked, kicking out and trying futility to rescue his daughter. “Please! _Please,_ she’s mine—”

And Dean’s. She was theirs. Their baby. He couldn’t lose another one, not after Jack.

But the hands holding him down were detached from sympathy, devoid of emotion, and Castiel’s begging turned to intelligible weeping that fell on cold eyes from Naomi, who approached him in a clinical way. Her head turned to watch him struggle until his baby’s cries were so far away he could hardly hear her.

“She belongs to Heaven,” Naomi replied calmly. “She and all the other children you’ll give us. The future of Heaven lies between these legs, Castiel—” Her hands dragged down the side of his thigh and he tried to kick out, but Malakai snapped a hand out and caught the ankle of Castiel’s boot before the sole made contact with Naomi’s face.

Naomi smirked, her eyes glittering. “I find your lack of investment in Heaven’s rebuilding quite offensive. It is an _honour_ to serve in this way. You and only you are blessed enough to take the seed of Heaven’s alphas. So…” Her teeth bared and she leaned forward. “...know your _place_.”

“She’s mine,” Castiel breathed wetly, a tear slipping down his face.

He knew he’d lost.

Naomi's eyes lingered, the smirk falling away from his lips. Quietly, she said, “The first time you bore a child, the first time we took her from you, your first fledgling Anna, you went catatonic. Didn’t speak for years. We almost put you down but...you went on to bare strong children; Inias. Samandriel. Hael. Rachel.”

Not for the first time since he’d arrived in this Heaven, Castiel deeply pitied his counterpart. To have suffered this grief not just once, but over and over...

“The only way to make you speak again was to wipe your memory of all your children,” Naomi explained. Then, as fast as her face had softened, it went hard and she said silkily, “This time, we won’t be bothering. Suffer, for all I care. Struggle. Kick. Scream. Never say a word again; I don’t care. But you _will_ replace all the angels, you will pay for the rebellion of your counterpart, and remember, Castiel, these children are not yours. _You_ are simply a receptacle for heavenly seed. You are an incubator for the future of this unearthly plane, do you understand? You are owed nothing. You simply _owe.”_

To say he wasn’t frightened, a half-powered angel with no wings and waning grace, under the heel of fully powered angels who hated him? It would be a lie. A tremor of fear had Castiel shaking in the hands of the angels, though bone-deep exhaustion certainly supplemented his compliance.

“I won’t bear more children,” Castiel retorted hoarsely at Naomi’s retreating back. “I won’t cooperate, not until you give me back my—”

“No one said anything about cooperation,” Naomi said calmly, half turning to look at him over her shoulder. Her silver eyes flickered to the other angels. “Gadreel will be here shortly. Get him cleaned up and do whatever it takes to make the implantation successful… Feel free to exercise whatever force necessary.”

Castiel looked between the angels; Zachariah, standing behind the angels holding his legs, with a smirk on his thin lips and a twinkle in his eye. The two angels at his feet were looking at each other, their expressions exhilarated, inspired, like they’d done something honourable and miraculous. The doors to his cell opened moments later and Uriel and Gadreel stepped through.

Uriel looked positively gleeful, while Gadreel followed behind him, his expression stoic, his arms stiff at his sides.

“That’s enough snivelling,” Uriel said, his lips contorted into a smile that Castiel wanted to drop kick off his face.

But before he could say as much, Castiel was struggling, trying to move his aching body far away from the tall, dark angel as a filled syringe flashed in his hand under the bright lights, the needle aimed right for his arm.

“No, stop,” Castiel rasped hoarsely, trying to jerk his arms out of the angels’ grasps, but with no avail.

Uriel ignored him, and before he could stop it, and despite his struggles, the needle sunk into the flesh of his bicep. Another hand from an angel holding his arms rested on Castiel’s head.

From the hand on his hair, he felt the cool sensation of healing. His flesh knit and the hot blood on his legs seemed to evaporate. Sweat left his skin and he felt his hair dry against his temples. For a moment, he felt well, and clean, and himself.

Then, from the needle in his arm he felt heat rumbled through his vessel, carried by whatever drug had been in that syringe via his bloodstream. Castiel breathed in punches of air, his eyes squeezing shut. In a rasp, he growled, “What’re you doing to me?”

Uriel’s low chuckle sounded from above him and the angels shared a laugh. “While it would give me no greater pleasure to see you suffer, it’s best practice to implant while the omega is in heat--as you know. So, just enjoy the ride, omega. This could have been worse for you, if it had been up to me. Naomi insists we must do this honourably.”

Of course--the sensation was familiar. It was back, and it was immediate. Castiel opened his eyes to glare hatefully at Uriel as the physiological reactions of another heat bombarded his senses. Except this time, he was not intoxicated by the scent of musky leather and warm motor oil and the tang of whiskey. The angels smelled sterile and cold.

His wrists slipped inside the angels’ grasps as perspiration coated his skin and sweltering heat pulsed in his chest, whirling and swirling down between his legs. Shamefully, he felt himself grow wet.

But fuck Naomi’s honour. He was determined to make this as difficult as possible for them.

“Fuck you,” Castiel spat, jerking his legs together and kicking at his captors.

It only made Uriel and Zachariah smirk at each other. With a hand on Gadreel’s shoulder, Zachariah smirked and gestured towards Castiel. “Go on, Gadreel. You said you wanted to make amends for what you did in the Garden. This is how you do it.”

Gadreel was staring at Castiel’s knees pressed together, his cheeks red. Under his sharp jaw, Castiel saw his throat bobbing.

“Of course,” Gadreel said, his tone flat, betraying the wince around his eyes. “I-I wish to serve Heaven as I should.”

“You’re a strong alpha,” Zachariah said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, his tone encouraging but his eyes predatory and venomous as they surveyed the side of Gadreel’s face. “You’ll create strong angels for us to replace the ones we lost trying to fix your mess.”

“Of course.”

Gadreel’s hands were hot against Castiel’s knees, but he didn’t try to separate them--not that Castiel would very well fucking let him.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you myself,” Castiel hissed, trying to kick and yank his hands away. One of his wrists slipped from an angels’ grasp and they all cried out when he landed a backhanded hit to the nameless angels’ face to his right.

But before he could launch himself up off the table, before the angel who’d recoiled and held its face could return to its post, Uriel swept in and caught his fist in mid-air, stopping it from nearly collided with the other restraining angels’ jaw.

“Deal with this swiftly,” Zachariah said boredly, his hand slipping off Gadreel’s shoulder. Castiel spat at him but missed as Zachariah swept away, disappearing through the door and out into the hallway.

Between the remaining angels holding Castiel down, Gadreel’s face looked drained, but his hands slipped off Castiel’s knees to unfasten his pants. It did not go without notice that his fingers shook.

“Get this over with,” Uriel barked, manhandling Castiel’s hands up above his head with more force than the other hands had. “Impregnate the bitch and _do your duty!_ Stop this dallying! _”_

“Don’t you dare, Gadreel,” Castiel said through his teeth, his face hot as he strained with every ounce of energy in his boiling body to free his hands. “Your crimes were forgivable. What you did--you were _tricked_ , you were a victim, not a perpetrator, but this? This would be unforgivab—”

Uriel’s hand was over Castiel’s mouth in a firm clap, the hit making Castiel see stars for a moment, partially convinced his jaw was broken.

“Do it now or I swear to our father, I will throw you right back in that cell, you coward!” Uriel spat at Gadreel, who’s hands paused on his waistband, his mouth opening and closing as he stared at Castiel’s face with wide eyes.

“I…” Gadreel swallowed loudly, audible even over the clatter of steel as Castiel struggled still and slipped over sweat and slick on the table. “I don’t know if I can, Uriel. These conditions… I-My knot, it—”

“Useless traitor,” Uriel snapped. “Get up here and take over for Sophia.”

Nodding quickly, Gadreel swapped places with an angel Castiel didn’t recognize. An angel whose vessel had long brown hair, a pointed face, and emotionless eyes took his place, her hands firm and unrelenting against Castiel’s struggles. She pushed his legs apart with frightening ease and worked with a swiftness that Gadreel had fortunately lacked.

“ _Cas._ ”

Amid the manhandling, the humiliation of his physiological compliance, and the swirling fear and anger burning inside of Castiel’s chest, Dean’s voice broke through a static crackle. As the angel’s large knot pushed inside him, Castiel took refuge in his own mind, and he listened to Dean’s soft breathing instead of Sophia’s grunts as she began to thrust.

_“Cas, listen. Fuck, I...I really hope you can hear me. I really, really hope you can fucking hear me.”_

Castiel turned his head away from Uriel’s low praise uttered to Sophia as her appendage slid easily into Castiel--he felt a twist of guilt and humiliation as he realized it didn’t hurt, that it felt...good. A depraved and sick side effect of being in heat. He didn’t want to like it, but this heat, this forced compliance felt like a betrayal.

With his head turned away from Uriel, Castiel found himself staring at Gadreel, who was staring back, his eyes pinched, his mouth twisted into a grimace. Gadreel had his head turned away from Sophia, tipped towards the wall, although he did not tear his eyes away from Castiel’s face. For a stupid, small moment, it almost felt like Castiel had someone on his side. What an idiotic notion.

 _I’m listening,_ Castiel thought back, knowing that Dean couldn’t hear him but feeling like if he replied back, he could fade away from reality, to a safe space in his mind where Dean was there to comfort him.

“ _We think we’ve found a way in. A way to save you, to bust through the gates. They’re… They’ve been locked, and hidden, but listen, Cas, we’re coming. Just hold on.”_

Castiel’s fingers uncurled from fists and he exhaled slowly, only to sniff sharply as his eyes stung with tears. He let his lids close, unwanting to let Gadreel into his private moment with Dean, unwilling to let him sense the relief.

_“Cas, we’re...we’re leaving soon, and I know you’ve been up there for a while. Cas told me. The...the other one, it’s a long story. But, listen, there’s something I gotta say just in case… Just in case I don’t make it for some reason. I…”_

Somewhere above him, Uriel was no doubt saying something crude, and on either side of his legs that’d stopped fighting, Sophia’s fingers dug into his hips.

_“What happened with Jack, and what happened with Mom, and...with you. It...It fucking eats me up inside, okay? I was angry and impulsive, and I know it’s been two days since everything happened but I fucking swear, I fucking swear on my life, Cas, I didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did. It was one angry, impulsive thing after another—”_

Sophia went still, and inside him, he felt her swell.

 _“--God, everything just went so fucking fast. It was like all I could see was red because my mom’d been taken from me_ again _. After I missed her every day for thirty years, and then I had her again, I had a mom and… And then Jack killed her and I couldn’t think. I didn’t stop to think about the family I’d found; You and Jack and… Cas. Cas, I am_ so _sorry. I forgive you, and I forgive Jack. I loved him, and that’s why it hurt so fucking bad. I thought I’d trusted another person who’d just end up hurting me. And Cas, I...I…”_

The angels let him go, pulling away. Sophia was still locked, still spilling her seed in him, but Castiel was locked away, safe in his mind, behind his eyes in a place where they couldn’t take any more from him.

_“I love you, Cas. And I’m sorry.”_

Castiel raised his hot hands to his face and just breathed.

_“We’re coming, Cas… Hold on.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the non-con & birth scene, here are the relevant plot points: Castiel gives birth to a child which Naomi takes away, Gadreel is present and seems hesitant to participate, an angel Sophia is assigned by Uriel as the aggressor, and Castiel hears Dean praying to him, saying he loves him and is coming to rescue him which brings him comfort.
> 
> Leave me a comment and let me know your thoughts about the story so far or this chapter is particular! <3 I love hearing from y'all, it's such a great motivator.


	8. The Sound of Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna take a sec to thank everyone who has been leaving comments. Y'all take time to let me know what you think of the story, and the chapter, and what you think is gonna happen, etc. It's just incredibly inspiring and really nice to see. The time you take to leave those comments is so appreciated. Fanfic authors write this stuff for free and for fun, so I can't tell you how inspiring it is to see people actually reading and liking the story; there's no other motivation quite like it. Much love and kisses to y'all. You are so appreciated.
> 
> Also so many kisses and love to my beta son_of_a_bitch_spn_family. She saves y'all from having to tolerate my excess commas and shitty em-dashes. Also, she's a kick-ass fic writer as well and I highly recommend going to read her stuff if you love Destiel (and other fandoms like Shadowhunters!)
> 
>  **Warning:** Minor character death in this chapter.

The car ride to Heaven’s gate was long. 

Duma and her small group of soldiers had gone first, her car leaving the home base only fifteen minutes ahead. She’d led them to the location; a valley far past the flat stretches of farm fields, out way past the city, leaving the smoggy outline of high rises and highways in the horizon behind them. Dean inhaled the smell of fresh forest air as they drove on a narrow road through dense forestry, and he watched either side of the road grow whiter as more early winter snow fell on evergreen trees that towered over them, split only by a grey sky.

An hour into their ride, he missed their initial entrance into the valley as he fell into a disturbed sleep against a window. He should’ve tried to sleep more last night, but anxiety kept his eyes propped open right through until dawn. 

As he drifted into an accidental slumber in the back of the van, his hands going pliant around the rifle in his lap, nightmares plagued him. 

Behind his eyes, he saw flashes of blood smeared on the inside of legs, and heard familiar rasping screams, and a baby shrieking. Images of a struggle, and Cas’ face twisted in agony, tears leaking down his wet face into damp brown hair curled at his temple. Like a montage of movie scenes he didn’t understand, he heard the sounds of retching and gasping, and saw a hand clenched over a swollen belly, and familiar silky voices uttering cruel words and ominous threats. Logic wasn’t afforded to him in these dreams, but when Dean woke up with a strangled gasp, he knew exactly what he’d seen.

Everyone in the car around him jolted, and Sam’s hand was around Dean’s arm, shaking him while Dean met a pair of concerned blue eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I’m fine,” Dean said immediately, his voice rough and his hand coming up to wipe at his sweating upper lip. “I’m fine, buzz off.”

Sam scowled as Dean shook off his hand. “Yeah,” his brother said in disapproval, “you sound fine.”

“Do you need us to pull over?” Hannah asked kindly from the front passenger seat, turning to glance at Dean over her shoulder. 

“No,” Dean replied gruffly, pulling himself upright in his seat, wiping at the window where he’d left a smudge of sweat on the glass. He felt too hot in the sweater he’d borrowed from Castiel and under the heavy bullet-proof vest. “I need us to hurry the fuck up because one minute is one million years up there and Cas isn’t gettin’ any freer.”

“We’ll be there soon,” Castiel said. The engine roared as he seemed to step more firmly on the gas.

“You sure you’re all right?” Sam asked Dean, pushing long brown hair behind his ear and doing that lip twitch he did when he was worried. 

“If anyone else asks me that, I’m gonna _walk_ to Heaven’s gate, I swear to God,” Dean growled, although he paused and added, “No, wait, fuck _God_. He’s a dick. When we get our asses back to our universe, I’m gonna open a portal, and kick his ass into Squirrel world.”

From the very back seat, Andi said “Uuuhhh…” eloquently, and Dean saw Hester exchange looks with Rachel, their brows raised. 

Hannah twisted around in the passenger seat completely, blinking at Dean and Sam, her head tilted. “God… He’s in your world?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Dean snapped grumpily, the plastic seat creaking under him as he shifted. “Last we checked, he was still there, still tryna salvage his shitty plotline--hey, cut it out!” 

Sam had elbowed him in the ribs, though it felt like a gentle thump through the vest. “Shut up, Dean.”

But Hannah caught on to the tension between them and a furrow deepened between her eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘his plotline’?”

Castiel was listening intently as well, eyes flickering up from the snow squall whooshing around them to Dean in the backseat.

He knew Sam didn’t want to rock the boat any more than they needed to, but as far as Dean was concerned, the boat had fucking sunk in this universe. Maybe it’d help for the angels to know they had true free will here, that God had left the building.

“Hey Cas,” Dean asked snarkily, “you remember Chuck? Did you ever meet him?”

“The dodgy writer?” Castiel asked. “Yes, we met him a few times.”

“Right,” Dean confirmed, “well, he was God. Surprise.”

“He was a writer,” Castiel insisted, his eyes squinting under heavy brows. Still, Dean saw Castiel's hands wrap harder around the wheel.

“Yeah, he was—”

Sam kicked at Dean’s boot. “ _Dean_.”

Ignoring Sam, Dean went on like a pissed-off bull in a china shop. “He wrote himself a few hundred thousand worlds to play with, each one with some stupid plot twist, or trope, or grande final act that didn’t go his way,” Dean went on, feeling riled up just at the very thought of Chuck’s stupid, small, squirrelly, punchable little face. “This world? Yeah, he fucking abandoned it. He saw it wasn’t going his way, and he fucked off.”

“That’s not true,” Hester insisted from the back. When Dean looked over his shoulder at her, he saw the spark of the same angel he’d known in his timeline, the one who’d served him his metaphorical ass on a platter. She leaned forward and said firmly, “Our God wouldn’t leave us.”

“Sorry, Hester,” Dean replied, turning to face the back of Castiel’s headrest again. “He left this world because something happened that he didn’t like. What it was? Take your pick, the dude is a dickbag. The whole stupid reason we’re in this universe is because we didn't play our roles on our own, because we didn't wanna do his stupid ending, and as a punishment, he tossed is in this failed story.”

“If this was just a story, then we’re just…” Andi trailed off, his lips scrunching into a mournful pout.

_Characters._

The rest of the car ride was silent for a good fifteen minutes. The angels all stared out of their respective windows, looking a bit shocked and confused. That was, except for Castiel, who looked livid, who looked like he was ready to get out of the fast-moving car and walk back home.

The car drove with a distinctly aggressive roar from its engine, and more than once Hannah had to murmur at Castiel to slow down.

“How,” Castiel finally growled, his hands squeaking on the wheel, “are you planning on returning to your universe, back to _God_ , then?”

Dean went to answer but Sam glared daggers at him, as if daring him to open his big mouth again to ruin someone else’s outtake on life. “Don’t know,” Sam admitted, scowling at Dean, but turning his eyes on Hannah, who stared at him sadly. “Last time we voluntarily travelled between universes, we had help from an archangel.”

Well, half an archangel.

He was dead now, of course.

“Good luck with that,” Castiel grumbled. “Those are all dead and gone here. Raphael perished in the war, Lucifer was struck down, Michael left to another universe, presumably with God. And Gabriel, if archangels can move through universes as you imply, likely left for another universe. He hasn’t been felt on this plane since before you were born.”

While dread trickled down Dean’s spine like melting ice, Sam shook his hair from his eyes and said confidently, “We’ll find another way. We could conjure Death—”

The angels all laughed in surprise, but Sam just smiled at them. “We’ve done it before.”

“I doubt she’d help,” Dean muttered. “Billie’s grown more and more resistant to our charms lately.”

“Well,” Sam said firmly, eyes narrowing, “anything’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Whatever,” Dean murmured. His eyes flickered up to Castiel’s, trying to meet them in the rearview, but the worn-out leader just looked one stupid comment away from exploding from his vessel like he’d swallowed a bomb. The hard blue eyes were locked on the road in front of him.

Sam sensed it and gently asked, “Cas, do you...know of any nephilim in this universe?”

This time Dean did catch Castiel’s eye in the mirror and for a horrifying moment he thought Castiel might just be angry enough to spill the beans about Dean’s nephil, but instead, Castiel licked his dry lips and said bluntly, “No, they’re all dead.”

Dean exhaled heavily, relieved. He knew Sam would find out eventually about what he and Cas had done, but he wasn’t...ready to tell him yet. He wasn’t ready for the hellfire and brimstone Sam would rain down on him for fucking and knocking up their best friend, for touching him when he was expressly told not to.

In that moment, Dean realized that Sam had known what would happen if Dean touched Cas. 

“We’ll find some other way then,” Sam replied quietly, turning his head to stare out the window. “We always do.”

***

The pick-up truck Duma had taken with her troops was parked on the side of the deserted road, exactly where they’d pinpointed on the map. _So far, so good,_ Dean thought as they slowed down to a stop behind the truck and got out, their skin stinging as the cold air hit unforgivingly. 

Dean inhaled the scent of cold forestry, but his ears perked up to listen to the absolute silence. Castiel seemed to be experiencing the same thing, his narrowed eyes darting around the side of the road and the tracks through the snow into the forest left behind by their first team.

“Through here, right?” Dean asked, nodding into the sparse, thin spindly trees that seemed to stretch for miles until they were a grey blur.

Hannah pulled a handgun from the backpack slung on Castiel’s shoulders and she nodded. “Yes. Ten minutes through there. Duma and A-team would’ve left a path.”

“Then let’s go,” Dean murmured, sniffing against the cold and turning on his heel, leading Sam, Hester, Rachel, Andi, Hannah, and Cas into the woods. 

Their boots crunched over dried twigs and a few inches of snow. Dean felt grateful suddenly for the gloves and scarf Rachel had insisted he wore before they’d left. It was freezing; clearly he and Sam had arrived in this universe just in time for the end of autumn and beginning of winter.

With the snow and the stillness, it was eerily quiet except for their footsteps and the shuffling noises of their clothing against bulletproof vests. As time drained away and five minutes drew closer to ten, their footsteps slowed and Dean felt both Castiel and Sam walk up on either side of him.

“It’s quiet,” Dean whispered.

The safety on Sam’s gun clicked. “It’s way too damn quiet.”

“Something isn’t right,” Castiel murmured, nodding ahead to their path. “We should be able to see them from here…”

They should’ve trusted their gut. A minute or so later, they appeared in a circular clearing bordered in tall trees. When they tipped their heads back, they stared up into the sky, noting a part in the clouds that was a true circle. It was unnatural.

Sam was the first to speak, pointing at the forest floor that seemed to have not a flake of snow. In the center, Dean saw the familiar warding that’d been on the sandbox that time Cas had iced Dagon for Kelly. For Jack.

“This is it,” Dean said, his teeth chattering against the cold. “Those are the gates, they have to be—”

But no sooner had he stepped into the clearing, lowering into a crouch, his hand outstretched to touch the warding carved into the ground, when it shimmered and faded away. Dean’s fingers brushed nothing but cold mud and warm goo...

“No,” he breathed, his eyes widening as he turned up his palm to the sky, thick red blood coating his fingertips. “No, the portal, it—”

“DEAN!” Sam’s voice boomed from behind him, jerking his head up in alarm. 

Before him, Uriel, Zachariah, and Duma stepped out into the clearing, appearing through a shimmering ward that had been invisible until now. They materialized into corporal forms, their feet shuffling over wet, decayed leaves as they guided their hostages into plain view. The sharp edges of their blades were pressed into Anael, Hael, and Ishim’s flexing throats.

“The bitch betrayed us,” Anael snarled, her eyes darting to the side where Duma stood with her fist curled in Ishim’s hair. “The second we touched down, her winged monkeys came out of the woodwork like cockroaches. They’d been _waiting_ \--auugh!”

Zachariah’s blade pressed into Anael’s throat, drawing fresh red blood to trickle down her neck, tangling in her equally fiery hair. “Watch your mouth, Red, or I’ll find a better use for it back in the jail cell we have waiting for you.”

“The deal,” Duma groaned in reminder, her narrowed eyes flickering over at Zachariah.

Between them, Uriel rolled his eyes up to the sky. 

“Right,” Zachariah chuckled. “We come with a proposition.”

“We don’t negotiate with alpha angel scum,” Hannah snapped, raising her gun directly at Zachariah.

“Are you sure?” Zachariah asked cheerfully, tilting his head. “Because I’ve got three of your most trusted garrison members right here, ready to be rescued. All we want are the two mud monkeys in your company. You hadn’t even _known_ them two days ago, it should hardly hurt to give them up in exchange for your own people, surely?”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks, waiting to be handed over, but the others didn’t budge, didn’t make any move to bargain. They kept their gazes of contempt on the alphas.

“You wouldn’t hand them over, Zachariah,” Castiel growled. “Not when you could easily take me, my leadership, and the Winchesters out in one fell swoop.”

Uriel grinned, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Not as stupid as you look, Castiel. I’ll give you that. Duma was right; you really _would_ give up anything for the Winchesters. You haven’t changed one bit in all these years. You’d give up the lives of more angels to once again side with these plaid-clad apes--”

“You traitor, Duma,” Hester piped up, stepping into line with Sam and Castiel, her gun raised, her fury visible over the barrel of the gun. “You turned your back on your own people—”

Duma bared her teeth and cried out, “ _Me?!_ _I_ betrayed my own people? You thick-headed morons followed Castiel to Earth, leaving Heaven behind in absolute disrepair. All for empty lives that meant _nothing_ , all to pay bills, and eat, and shit, and sleep away your existence. You _chose_ to become mortal, to not even be _angels_ anymore. You _spit_ in the face of God and your obligation to carry out his word—”

“You chose to come with us, too,” Castiel snarled. “You ripped out your grace and joined us on Earth, too, Duma. Do not forget—”

“I didn’t rip it out,” Duma laughed, her face alight with pride. Her chin tipped up. “I took it out with care and dignity, and left it in the hands of alphas who kept it safe for me until I returned.”

Uriel looked over at Duma and the two shared a wink. Duma’s eyes glowed silver with replaced grace.

Castiel’s face fell and he stepped back, shaking his head. “This entire time… You’ve been a spy this _entire time?_ Ten years as an agent for the alphas? Ten years living among us, among angels who loved and respected you, and...”

“You really thought we’d just _let_ you leave and not plant surveillance?” Uriel mocked, his shoulders shaking again. “We’ve been privy to your every move, Castiel. We know the name of every angel in your ranks, dead or alive. We’ve known about every move you’ve made for eleven years. Every car you drove and farmhouse you squatted in. Even every bank account. We’ve been following you, waiting for a time when you’d become truly useful…”

With a grunt, Duma kicked the back of Ishim’s knees, sending him nearly sprawling into the mud, her one hand in his hair, the other hand raising a blade to point at Sam and Dean. “And now, you’re useful. You led the Winchesters right to us. Them, and that other angel who wears your face and births strong fledglings to replenish our ranks. Heaven’s day has come again. Be grateful you were able to serve Heaven one last time, in the end.”

The clearing was silent. Clouds of condensation puffed out quickly from between Castiel’s lips.

“Fuck this,” Ishim growled, and before anyone could react, he flipped onto his back and swiped his leg out, catching Duma’s ankles, sending her tumbling sideways into Uriel and Hael. 

All hell broke loose as gunfire echoed around the clearing, blades clanged, and fists collided with flesh. Sam, Rachel, and Hester rushed Zachariah, who’d been flipped onto his back by a furious Anael that hadn’t taken kindly to her throat being nicked. Castiel threw Ishim a blade he’d had strapped to his leg just in time for the grey-haired angel to parry with Duma, blocking her strike as she tried to swing her blade down atop his skull.

Hannah took on Uriel with Samandriel, the two of them ducking as he tried to slice them open with quick sweeps of his angel sword. 

Castiel and Dean exchanged looks and split up, running along either side of the clearing to get behind their attackers. 

But Zachariah roared and raised his palm, sending Sam and Hester flying through the air, colliding hard with the ground, rolling roughly into the snow until the base of a tree broke their trajectory. 

Off to the side, Ishim and Duma were duking it out, rolling in the snow, their fists slamming into each other’s faces, their blood spraying the trees with red. Duma was twisting Ishim’s wrist, urging him to release his weapon, but he had his hand around her neck, fingers squeezing.

Dean skidded to a stop, unsure of where to go first, of who to save more immediately; Sam, who looked stunned, his head shaking to clear stars from his eyes, or Ishim, who was only sort of overpowering Duma. 

On the opposite side of the clearing, Castiel ran hard, circling around the brawl and he jumped, pushing off a tree with his foot to get some air before he kicked the back of Uriel’s head hard enough to send the angel stumbling forward into the mud, his blade rolling into the snow. 

Samandriel was freed, and he fumbled forward to pick up the blade before Uriel could, but what no one would see coming was Zachariah’s redirected wrath now that he was free of Sam and the others. Before Castiel’s scream could bounce off the trees entirely, Zachariah’s blade slid through Andi’s back, piercing his heart. 

Hannah, who’d been helping Hester to her feet, screamed, too. Beside her, Rachel paused midway to standing, her muddy hands slipping against a tree she’d used for support, her face crumpling.

Zachariah pushed down on Samandriel’s back with the sole of his booth, sliding the kid off his blade like the spine sheathed around the holy steel was a nuisance.

The only commotion still happening was Ishim and Duma, although Ishim growled and threw everything he had into tossing her off of him. As soon as she was rolling across the leaves, thumping into a stump with a grunt, Ishim stumbled to his feet and paled at the sight of Andi’s twitching body going still, face first in the mud, his blood pooling where the gate of Heaven was supposed to have been.

“More angel bloodshed,” Zachariah snarled, pointing down at the boy’s corpse like it was Castiel’s fault. “More blood on _your_ hands, Castiel. All because you’re unwilling to give up Dean and Sam Winchester _again_.”

The fighting stopped. The Winchesters and the graceless angels all stared at Andi’s body and the alpha angels stood proud and triumphant.

Castiel stared down at Samandriel, his eyes wide and stunned. Suddenly uncaring about fighting, Castiel shoved past Uriel and dropped to his knees in the mud, pulling Andi out of it with a squelch. The boy’s entire front was thick with filth and blood; Castiel’s hand swiped over his young face, pulling muck away with his palm, his fingers brushing blood away from his lips. Dean heard Castiel release a rattling breath as the boys lifeless blue eyes stared up at him.

Zachariah’s shining shoes squashed down into the mud beside Castiel’s feet, Andi’s blood pooling over the leather, his tone snide and gloating. “This won’t be the last of your people to die, Castiel. I’ll kill every other angel in this clearing, and then I’ll bring you back to your home on that stinking, putrid farm and I’ll make you watch as I slaughter every other renegade that you dragged down into the shit and filth, traitor.” 

Everyone started as Zachariah raised his blade, looking to stab Castiel in the back with it despite his contradictory rant implying that he’d live, but the muzzle of a handgun pressed to the side of the alpha’s big, rotund head and from the other end, Anael hissed, “Drop. Your. _Weapon._ Or I’ll end your slimy little existence where you stand, Zachariah.”

Castiel’s pulled Andi into his arms, his shaking hands gripping the back of his coat and cradling the back of his head as he pushed the boys lifeless face into his neck.

Anael’s threat seemed to have worked; Zachariah, Uriel, and Duma exchanged looks and Dean immediately knew they were about to fly off.

“Wait!” Dean cried hoarsely, his hand twitching to reach out to them. “Please. Tell me he’s alive. Tell me Cas is okay up there.”

Duma rolled her eyes, but Uriel and Zachariah grinned. Uriel released a booming laugh. “The whore. He asks after that slick-slitted whore, the one who takes all of our knots on all fours and _likes it.”_

“You’re lying,” Castiel croaked miserably, his eyes sliding closed as he pulled Andi tighter against him. “Their omega was with child when you captured him; there likely hasn’t been time for your atrocities, and if there has, then only one.”

Every graceless angel in the clearly bowed their heads, wincing, and Sam made a noise of confusion audible even from across the clearing.

Uriel turned on Dean and paced over slowly, uncaring about the gun Dean raised and pointed at his chest out of fear.

“Oh, he’s alive,” Uriel confirmed, chuckling. “Now the question; Is he _okay?_ Well, that’s subjective, isn’t it? The nephil was born not a week ago, our time—”

Dean’s heart dropped and he immediately felt the skin of his face prickle, any remaining blood draining away, and the edges of his vision went blurry.

“—the first pure blood angel is to arrive any day now, ready to be pushed out from between those willing legs,” Uriel went on, his lips curled smarmily. “So I think he’s _okay,_ Winchester. I think he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be; legs open for business and soon to be screaming on all fours, like the breeder he was made to be.” 

“No,” Dean breathed, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. 

But Uriel lost interest in him, turning on his heel. He was looking at Castiel again. “Am I sparking fond memories, Castiel? Their angel is reliving your good old glory days.”

“Don’t be absurd, Uriel,” Zachariah laughed, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Don’t be forgetful. Of course, he doesn’t _remember!_ Naomi’s saw to it.” 

Stopping behind Castiel, who looked like he would rather be the one lying lifeless in the mud, Zachariah leaned down near Castiel’s ear and said loudly as he pointed to Andi’s body, “You don’t remember, so let me remind you. This one? This one was your youngest! He was so small, so fragile. I find it quite fitting and poetic that he’d come into this world and leave it in your arms, covered in blood.”

Throwing aside her gun, Hannah rushed forward and dropped down beside Castiel, winding her arms around him and his dead child, her face turned up towards Zachariah, her features twisted in thrumming fury. “Go! Go before we repay you with the same lack of mercy you’ve shown us.”

Zachariah straightened up, rose to his feet and winked. Pulling his attention from Castiel, he looked over his shoulder at Dean and said, “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

The clearing filled with wind for a brief moment as the angels took flight, their wings beating the cold air through their sweat-damp hair and worn clothing.

The moment their attackers were gone, the graceless angels all rushed forward and collapsed onto their knees, their arms around Castiel, Hannah, and Andi, soft sobs and sniffling echoing through the trees. They huddled together and mourned quietly, shoulders shuddering and flexing as they held each other tightly.

Over their heads, Dean and Sam stared at each other, and even though they’d known Andi for what was only a moment of his life, they eventually bowed their heads and mourned, too.

As he witnessed Castiel's face crumple with loss, Dean grieved for his own Cas, who was still captive with no foreseeable rescue or escape, and who might be waiting for them, who might have heard his prayer, and who was at the mercy of angels who clearly had no qualms about killing his children. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a shortie, but hopefully a goodie--sorry about all the emotions Andi's death no doubt caused. Drop me a comment to let me know what y'all think! I'm hoping to get the next chapter out this weekend, Monday at the latest. 
> 
> Love y'all!


	9. The Ones You Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted non-con (key word is 'attempted', no actual non-con happens here, but **I've put *_*_*_* on either end of the few short paragraphs where the attempted non-con is so you can skip it if you wish** ) and depictions of grief.
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for rangling my commas!

Dean had not come.

Weeks had passed, and still, Dean had not come.

The child that had been implanted in him whilst he’d heard Dean’s prayer of hope was grown, his belly nearly the size it had been when his nephil had come into the world. The second life to come from his womb would be here any time now and still...Dean had not come.

For the thousandth time--and growing in frequency and strength--Castiel wondered if Dean was dead, and if Sam was dead.

Or worse, had they given up? Chosen to back down? Perhaps they’d found a way back, but had to pass through the portal before time ran out. His mind came up with all kinds of scenarios, both where Sam and Dean chose to leave him, and others where they’d had no other option.

Angel radio was quiet and Dean had not prayed again.

The emptiness that consumed his emotions, that filled every dark crevice of the cavity in his chest was overwhelming, and often Castiel had to sit or lay down in simple attempts to gather himself, to remind himself who he was,

As days turned to weeks, more often than not, he failed.

At first he’d been worried, then angry, and finally, he’d reached a place where he knew, deep down, that no one was coming. Perhaps no one was coming because they’d chosen so, but Castiel was entirely convinced that no one was coming because…

 _No,_ Castiel insisted roughly to himself. _Do not allow yourself to believe the voices of dispair. Dean and Sam are alive. They’re just...stuck. Trapped on the other side of the gates. That’s what Dean had said; they’re coming for the gates._

So, while he’d spent days upon days working through the stages of grief, finally he landed on acceptance; he may be stuck in Heaven forever if he simply waited for rescue. If Dean and Sam couldn't get through from the other side, Castiel would have to open and pass through the gates himself.

It was the only way to know if Dean and Sam were truly alive or dead, anyway.

The trouble was he'd already tried to escape weeks ago--or was it months? This Heaven was different, with unique rooms and twists in its hallways like a labyrinth. He was unsure if this place was purposely trying to confuse him, like it was sentient and knew he was a prisoner. But even so, not even the brig was the same; here the cells were furnished with beds and sinks and steel tables with leg stirrups. Back in his own Heaven, there had been no need for any of that. 

What he needed was a guide, or rather, someone to give him a roadmap. While he knew none of the angels would give him that willingly, he knew of one particular angel who was close enough.

After his failure to force himself onto Castiel and implant a fledgling, Gadreel had been forced to "face his shortcomings" by having to essentially play babysitter. He was stationed outside of Castiel's cell, doing the work no one else seemed to want and was ordered to report if anything at all went wrong. Castiel overheard them giving him commands, relaying to Gadreel like he was five years old how important it was to protect the integrity of the first fledgling birth.

Castiel _almost_ felt bad for how obviously the angels treated Gadreel like the scum on the bottom of their shoes. 

_Almost_. Unfortunately for Gadreel, Casitel did not feel bad enough.

"Help," Castiel had gasped, cradling his hand under his slightly swollen belly over his shirt. Doubling over, his other hand had pressed to the wall and his head tipped forward like he could hardly keep himself up. "Help me, Gadreel. Something is _wrong_."

It had worked in his favour that, since Gadreel head been stationed, Castiel had refused to talk to him or acknowledge his presence at all. It sold the act to have himself finally reach out. It made his request for assistance plausible. 

Gadreel peered through the glass in the door cautiously at first, his brow dipped down on one side. He was right to be suspicious, Castiel figured. After all, the last time he'd been told to guard something precious to Heaven, he'd been tricked then, too.

It was almost too cruel to have Gadreel repeat his same mistakes, but what was crueler? Captivity, and imprisonment, and rape, and violence. _That_ was wrong. And Castiel, frankly, had enough. 

The bolt on the door unlatched with a thunk, opening to reveal Gadreel standing on the threshold, his angel blade in his hand and a cautious look of curiosity mixed in with the worried glint in his eye. 

"Hamming it up", as Dean would've said, Castiel slid to his knees, allowing a fake strangled cry to gurgle from his throat as he lowered himself down onto his knees on shaking legs, his palm squeaking as it slid down the wall.

"It hurts," Castiel had gasped, tucking his chin to his chest.

Through the tips of his fringe, he saw Gadreel crouch in front of him, setting the blade down by his feet to free up his hands. The two strong ones reached forward and rested on Castiel's shoulders. In his mechanical cadence, Gadreel inquired, "Castiel, I implore that you breathe and explain to me what—"

Surprise barely had a chance to register over Gadreel's face before Castiel snatched up the blade and surged towards him. One cleverly kicked ankle later and Gadreel was on his knees with Castiel's manacles around his neck.

"C'sst'ul!" Gadreel choked, his face turning red, his hands grasping at the chains squeezing around his neck, the warding keeping them both imprisoned. 

But from behind him, Castiel held him firmly against his chest and did not relent. 

"Where are the gates?" Castiel hissed in his ear, tilting the sharp edge of the blade against Gadreel's temple. 

Gadreel gasped in response and his legs slid out in struggle. Castiel would've loosened his grip if Gadreel had not shaken his head vehemently. 

"Either you tell me or I snap your neck and end your existence," Castiel whispered harshly, giving Gadreel a shake. "Rest assured, Gadreel, when they find your body, they will not mourn for you. You're nothing to them but a pawn--they know you're loyal to Heaven, they know you carry momentous guilt because of what you've done. Don't confuse their orders as open arms back into the ranks. Now...tell me where to find the gates…"

Castiel paused, glancing down at the cuffs around his wrists and the warded manacles. 

"...And tell me how to take these off."

Only then did he loosen his grip, though the warded chains stayed twined around Gadreel's neck. Castiel gave the angel a second to catch his breath and go still, his legs thumping down onto the ground, his hands on Castiel's wrist but making no move to resist. 

"I can't take them off," Gadreel said hoarsely, gulping down heavy inhales, his shoulders heaving. "N-Not while I'm within its binding, as my powers are restricted under the warding. I require grace to—"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Castiel growled, his eyes narrowing. "The moment I set you free, you'll call the others."

Against his jaw, Gadreel shook his head again. "No, Castiel. I won't. I...do not fault you for wanting freedom."

Castiel's lip curled. "You guard my jail cell."

“You don’t understand,” Gadreel whispered, turning his head in the loose restraints, staring into Castiel’s face. “You said, earlier, that what I did in the garden was forgivable, that I was a victim to trickery, but you are alone in that sentiment, Castiel. The others, I see how they look at me. They blame me for God’s departure and for the state of his world. I...If I do not comply with their orders, I’ll soon find myself returned to my cell, or worse.”

While Castiel wanted to hate this angel with the same fervor that he hated the other alphas, his heart did sink with the weight of sympathy. Gadreel was a prisoner here, too.

“Why not run?” Castiel asked, searching the other angel’s face as it was inches away. 

Gadreel winced and shrugged. “I love Heaven, my friend. This is my home. It is in distress. Who would I be if I left it as is?”

Castiel’s grip on the chains tightened and he bared his teeth again. “And I suppose you believe the angels’ plans to rape their way in to a new generation is just?”

Gadreel paled and his eyes widened. “What they’re doing… I simply had no idea until they freed me weeks ago. When they asked me if I was willing to do what it took to rebuild Heaven, I said yes, but I didn’t know, not until I was being led to your cell.”

The two angels stared at each other, breathing hard. 

Then Gadreel added, his eyes pinched in the corners. “I am so sorry, Castiel. What they’re doing here; it is barbaric. Our father would not wish this of them. This violence is blasphemous. It’s...wrong.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Castiel spoke, not realising how hurt he was until he uttered the words, “And yet you held me down.”

Gadreel’s entire body seemed to lose all fight and his mouth twisted bitterly, the blue of his eyes glittering. “When I was tricked into allowing the serpent into the garden, it had been a mistake. As I sat in my cell for millions of years, I mourned for the consequences of my gullibility, but I never believed myself to be evil. I never did until...untilI held you down and remained complicit to the brutality forced upon you weeks ago, friend. I...will never forgive myself.”

Despite the regret in Gadreel’s words, Castiel still repeatedly hoarsely, “And yet you guard my jail cell.”

Pale blue eyes stared up at him painfully and Gadreel whispered, “Better me than them.”

Castiel wished that he sensed a single shred of disingenuity in Gadreel’s response, but he knew just by staring into the remorseful blue eyes that this other angel was as much of a prisoner as he was. If Gadreel failed the alphas, they may kill him or lock him back in his cell for another handful of millenia. And Castiel remembered what it was like to be a good soldier of Heaven, even when the voices in the back of his mind had screamed doubts at him. He remembered what it had been like to simply do as he was told because another option had never struck him before.

In his chest, Castiel felt fear fill the space around his heart, but still, after a few careful deep breaths to calm himself, he untwined the chains from around Gadreel’s neck. 

Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, Castiel stepped back and watched Gadreel clamour to his feet. 

The air felt thick as they stared at each other, and Castiel held his breath as he slowly held out his hands, the chains swinging between his wrists. 

“Free me,” he rasped. “Please, brother.”

Gadreel looked momentarily confused at being referred to as ‘brother’ and he stepped back. For a horrifying moment, Castiel thought the other angel was going to leave the room, or worse, lock the door behind him and alert the others. 

But then, the alpha reached out slowly and lowered his palm over the warded chains. Silver light glowed from between his fingers and the links in the middle of the manacle grew white and hot, then the cell filled with a loud, sharp _clink_ as they snapped. The sigils in the handcuffs glowed and then smouldered, smoke rising in wisps. The chains were broken, each half now swinging under Castiel’s wrists, tapping at his thighs. 

Inside his vessel, Castiel felt a rush of energy that flared up through his arms and rumbled through his very veins to his heart. It swirled around his organs excitedly and down to the very tips of his toes. As his grace raced up to the surface of his skin, he felt his cheeks grow hot and his eyes flare in a flash of blue.

“It worked,” Castiel breathed. With a surprised huff of relief, Castiel laughed quietly and whispered, “It worked.”

Gadreel’s head tilted like he was wondering why Castiel would ever doubt that it would, but before he could question it, Castiel rushed forward and grabbed Gadreel by the arms, his fingers squeezing into his biceps.

“Gadreel,” Castiel said in a rush, “where are the gates? I can’t stay here, surely they’ll sense that my grace has returned—”

“Of course,” Gadreel replied with a little shake of his head--he’d no doubt felt the flare of renewed energy. Taking Castiel’s wrist, he tugged him out into the hallway, his head turning to either side in surveillance. “It will be difficult to explain, perhaps I should show you. Come—”

Castiel tugged him back. Gadreel turned in surprise, his brows raised, but Castiel shook his head. 

“They’ll certainly kill you for helping me,” Castiel murmured, his eyes darting across Gadreel’s well-meaning face. “But if I overpowered you, if I’d forced you to free me...”

The angels exchanged weary smiles. 

“You’re right, friend. I’ll explain where the gates are, and when I’m done…” Gadreel held out his blade handle-first to Castiel. “Ensure you make it look convincing.”

***

Gadreel’s directions had been confusing at first, as this Heaven seemed to be laid out entirely different, and the former prisoner’s understanding of Heaven was based on mental blueprints at best. However, with his grace back Castiel instinctively knew he was going the right way, his energy seemingly to guide him with a subtle tug at his heart in his chest towards the exit.

He’d nearly run into a few angels on the way there, but Castiel realized that this Heaven was larger than his own, so the few angels that still resided there were far and few between. With no one aware he’d escaped, he could hide in doorways or around corners without detection; Heaven itself did not yet seem to realise it should be blocking his exit with brick walls and dummy doorways as it had before.

And the gates came sooner than expected.

Castiel’s grace seemed to vibrate as he drew closer to the gates. At the end of a hallway, between two walls lined in white glass doorways, glowed the gates; two large white doors carved in intricate shapes, and the handles shining in gold and glitter. Between the two doors and under the bottom edge glowed white light, drawing him towards it. _Freedom._

His feet carried him closer and a brisk walk turned into a jog. A sudden spike of fear, as if angels were on his heels, turned a jog into a sprinting run. His boots pounded down over the marble; despite the racket he was making, he was too close to slow down.

But then… Castiel came to a skidding stop, so close to the gates that his face felt a burn from the intense glow emanating from it like it was direct sunlight. 

He panted in front of the door. Inside him, his grace pulsed. 

Behind him, he was leaving a child.

Castiel looked over his shoulder, down the hallway he’d run down. Somewhere back there, in one of those rooms, in one of those hallways, his daughter--his and Dean’s--waited for him. How could he leave her?

Perhaps he could come back, perhaps he could bring reinforcements. Or, perhaps the alphas would harm her in anger, or use her as bait for him to return. Perhaps they would kill her, the abomination. 

Castiel could not leave her. He would sooner rip out his own heart, because if he left her behind, what use would that aching heart be? 

Throwing one last wishful gaze at the gates, Castiel turned on his heel and headed back into the belly of Heaven, his back growing colder as he left the gates behind. Deep in the pit of his stomach, he felt another tug from his grace and he immediately knew he was being led back to _her_. 

He followed the feeling, the ringing that grew strong as it led him in directions he didn't know but fully trusted. An instinctive feeling of urgency buzzed under his skin and his feet picked up their pace like she was whispering _hurry up, mother—_

Castiel saw stars as he turned a corner and was shoved sideways into a wall. A hand gripped his hair and knocked his head against the hard marble for good measure. His vision blurred and with his head feeling like it had been split open, Castiel hissed and slid down the wall, his shoulder squeaking and skidding over the cold surface. 

"Should've known better than to station a traitor to guard a traitor. Especially a smooth talker like you, Castiel," Uriel's voice said with a dark chuckle.

Still dazed, Castiel couldn't see but certainly felt the broken chains around his hands shuffle and with a pop like a lightbulb going out, he felt the wards reactivated, trapping his grace once again. 

"No," he breathed weakly, raising his restrained hands to hold his aching head. " _No_."

He'd been so close. 

"Yes," Uriel said smoothly, his cold hands wrapping around Castiel's arm and jerking him to his feet. 

The urge to vomit was intense and Castiel wondered if his head was bleeding. 

"Too much heart was always your problem," Uriel laughed as he half-guided, half-dragged Castiel away from the gates and from his daughter. "If you hadn't turned around, you might've just made it. Funny."

His vision was returning and Castiel blinked hard, giving his head a shake. "Screw you."

“You know,” Uriel said, his voice low and dangerous, “you just might. I regretted my decision to hand you over to Sophia… I’ve waited too long to take my revenge on you for what you’ve done to Heaven.” 

Castiel heard a door open and he stumbled over the threshold, his eyes blinking hard, though they quickly adjusted to a dark room. It was a cell, just like his own, but it smelled stale and was clearly unused. 

“Leave me alone,” Castiel said hoarsely, his voice cracking as his stomach turned nauseously, his head still spinning. He felt the warm trickle of blood down the side of his face and he knew that his head had indeed been cracked open. Without the power of his grace knotting the flesh and bone together, it was a struggle to heal and gather his bearings.

He didn’t have time to turn around and try to swing his arms at Uriel’s head as planned because the hard base of a boot crushed the back of his knee, sending him hard onto the ground, his elbows skinned as they broke his fall. 

“You’re nothing but trouble, you’ve never been anything else. Near constant rebellion, and backtalk, and completely and utter ungratefulness for the role you were given--both you and your counterpart—” Behind him, Uriel grabbed him by a fistful of hair and forced Castiel’s aching head between his elbows, his breath spreading in condensation across the floor. Fear pooled in his stomach as Uriel kneeled down behind him, his calves laying heavily on Castiel’s ankles, holding him down. 

“He fought back, too, after we took his firstborn from him. It was blasphemous to witness, the complete ungratefulness… But Naomi protected you back then, too. She and others like Ishim and Anael and even Zachariah thought you and the omegas were to be honoured; bearers of the new generation. You know what I think?” 

The silent, dark room filled with the sound of a zipper being tugged down and Castiel knew exactly what Uriel thought.

*_*_*_*

His hot breath left the skin of Castiel’s ear damp. “I think you weren’t any different than any other cow we had in our ranks. I think you were just a ride like the rest of them, except I never got my chance to ride you, the famed Castiel, now did I? What a better opportunity than now to remedy this...”

With adrenaline rushing through his vessel, spurned by fear and realization, Castiel lifted his head. He tried to yank his hands up behind his neck to hook around Uriel’s, but with an all-encompassing horor, he realised Uriel had dropped a heavy steel table leg down in between his wrists, holding him in place. 

He’d be taken here by Uriel in this dark, dusty, forgotten room. No heat, no slick. Just revenge and fury and pain. 

“Let me go,” Castiel growled, though his arms shook as he yanked at the chains, the metal rattling with loud clangs and bangs as he swung the iron against steel. He hoped that with all the noise he was making, someone, anyone, would come stop this. He didn’t care if he was dragged back to the cell, he just wanted more than anything for Uriel to not have his way. “ _Let me go!”_

Cool air hit his skin where his pants were being dragged down his hips and Uriel’s even cooler, frigid hands ran down his ribs and down his sides, curling around his waist and around his shoulder—every muscle in Castiel’s body grew stiff, then—

“NO!”

The room filled with a bright white light and heat rumbled through the room like there’d been an explosion. All around him, metal shrieked as it was thrown aside and twisted. Castiel became vaguely aware of the table in front of him lifting off its feet and crashing into the opposite wall, the surface crinkled and crumpled like an aluminum pop can. Castiel raised his head quickly to see that the entire room was in shambles and Uriel was picking himself up from the floor, having been thrown over Castiel entirely. 

Behind him, Castiel heard heels clicking slowly over the floor and when he looked over his shoulder, Naomi was standing in the doorway, a vein pulsing in her forehead and her teeth bared. The flash of grace she’d just blasted through the room was dulling behind her silver eyes. 

“You dare attempt to defile the _one and only breeder we have_!?” Naomi shrieked, her voice cracking in ways Castiel hadn’t ever heard before. Her fists curled at her sides were glowing still, power crackling from them, flickering like flares of lightning.

Uriel didn’t have the decency to look ashamed. Instead, he clamoured to his feet and jerked the fly of his pants together angrily, his eyes narrowed. “This whore holds no honor in my eyes, Naomi. You forget the reason we’re even here is because of this rebellious omega who never knew his _place_. I was merely trying to remind him—”

*_*_*_*

“ _Go,”_ Naomi growled, stepping between Uriel and Castiel, the lines of her shoulders hard and tight.

Uriel’s lip curled and he raised a shaking hand, a finger pointed at Castiel. “This one can’t be trusted, Naomi. He lacks any shred of obedience once shown by the other one—”

“I said go and I _won’t_ ask again!” Naomi snapped. In Uriel’s eyes, Castiel saw the reflection of Naomi’s grace flaring from her silver iris’. “Get out of my sight. The others wait on you to begin the mission. I’ll deal with you later.”

Throwing Castiel one last hateful glare, Uriel straightened his coat on his shoulders and stomped by them both, out of sight, the snapping clap of his hard soles growing distant and then disappearing all together.

Naomi turned slowly, and Castiel pushed himself up onto his knees, tugging his pants up around his hips, all the while glaring at her. Rescue or not, she was still their ringleader and his ultimate captor.

“Are you hurt?” Naomi asked firmly.

 _Of course I’m hurt, you bitch,_ Castiel thought bitterly, raising his restrained wrists to his forehead, wiping away hot blood. But he merely said, “It’s none of your concern.”

Still, Castiel noted a distinct lack of anger in her voice. 

The wince and look of pity she surveyed him with made Castiel’s stomach twist uncomfortably in a way that had nothing to do with the squirming fledgling he sheltered inside him or the concussion.

“I’ll die trying to escape, if I must,” Castiel rasped, slowly getting to his feet, trying to fight through the weak tremor in his legs left over from nearly being assaulted...again. “I won’t be kept here, I won’t rest until I am with the Winchesters again.”

Naomi bowed her head, staring at the ground between them. “You don’t want to be with them, Castiel.”

To his surprise, Castiel released a bark of laughter that felt very alien and uncharacteristic of him, but he’d had a hard time remembering who he was lately. The small, cramped white room and routine trauma was getting to him. 

“It may shock you to hear, Naomi, but I’d rather live my life at the side of those two mud monkeys, as you call them, than under every predatory knot with legs that you have the dishonour of calling _angels_ —”

“No,” Naomi said, lifting her eyes, shaking her head slowly. “I only mean you don’t want to be with them because...they’re dead, Castiel. The Winchesters, your Winchesters are dead.”

The world stopped.

She was lying.

She was a _liar._

Still, his words came out strained. “Do you… Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I’d fall for that? That I’d take your word?”

“You don’t have to,” Naomi replied quietly, raising her hand, extending it towards him. “I can show you.”

His initial instinct was to reach up and snap Naomi’s wrist, twist it behind her back, and stab her with the very blade she held in her hand, but…

He shut his eyes and let her fingers, cold like steel, press against his forehead. 

Behind his eyelids flashed images of a fight in a forest clearing. He saw Sam thrown back against the base of a tree, rolling in the snow, and Dean running through familiar angels he long thought were dead, battling. And then...blood. An angel blade running through flesh and a scream that sounded like his own. A shining black leather shoe stepped in mud and sunk into it, drowning in red.

Castiel felt himself inhale, the sensation of breath rattling in his chest. Naomi’s fingers pressed harder and he saw more images; Dean, lying in snow, his eyes lifeless, his blood circling his head like a grotesque halo. And Sam, on his back, his face so white it was nearly blue, and his normally vibrant hazel eyes were stony and dull.

“You’re _lying,”_ Castiel gasped, yanking himself away from Naomi, his feet stumbling in his boots as he took two shaky steps away. When his shoulder hit a cold marble wall, he opened his eyes and bared his teeth. 

Naomi stood in the doorway and to her credit, looked regretful. “I’m not.”

“Your sole purpose on this plane is to deceive and manipulate,” Castiel retorted, fighting down the bile rising in his throat, burning him. His hand squeaked as it slid off the wall and he stood on his own two feet, hoping the stance would make him feel grounded even though all he wanted to do was fall. “You could’ve doctored those images, you—”

“But you know I didn’t,” Naomi interrupted softly, her eyes wet. Her heel clicked over the floor as she stepped towards him slowly like she was approaching a trapped animal. Which, he thought, she was. “Look deep within yourself, Castiel. Look deep within and see that you’ve known for a while now that no one was coming for you. Because no one could. You’ve been alone in this universe for a while now. Weeks. We intercepted the Winchesters at the gates recently--they'd come to save you, and they’d brought our enemies to infiltrate us. We offered them a place here in Heaven--at peace, but out of the way of our work. But they fought, they brought enemies who seek to destroy Heaven. The boys refused and…”

Castiel raised his hands to his face and pressed his palms to his eyes. 

Of course they’d fought. 

Of course they’d have rejected a Heaven of their own. 

And Naomi was right; he’d known he was alone. Deep, in the darkest corners of his soul, in the shadows he tried to shove aside with misplaced, misguided blind hope, he’d known they were gone. Dead. 

He’d known no one was coming. It had been too quiet. It had been days, weeks, and it had been too quiet.

He’d known there was no end to this new-found misery.

“What is there worth going back to now?” Naomi asked, her voice close and soft. He smelled her scent of frigid iron and felt her breath against the back of his hands. 

When she reached up and tugged his hands from his face, he saw her wince of sympathy through the blur of his vision.

“No,” he whispered, but it was weak. It was hapless. Hopeless. “I...have a home to go back to.”

Naomi tilted her head, and her brows knitted together. “Where? In your universe? What do you have there now without the Winchesters?”

Castiel stared at her, his mouth pressed into a hard line so firmly that he felt like it would surely bruise. Shamefully, mournfully, his chin trembled.

No Sam.

No Jack. 

Heaven was as good as closed and there were no angels left who cared about him.

There was…

No Dean. 

Lifeless green eyes flashed behind his vision and with a small sob, Castiel raised his hand to his mouth and let it go.

He let go every fibre of hope that’d been hanging by a thread, and he realised with a crushing despair that he had _nothing_ left. He had nothing to go back to, in this universe or his own. 

“I know,” Naomi murmured, nodding, her eyes pinched in the corners. When she reached between them and took his hand, he didn’t fight it. She gave his hot fingers a squeeze. “I know of your hopelessness. I’ve felt it for weeks now. I’ve seen the wilting of your grace, and I know of the hollow ache in your chest. Such...intense loneliness.”

When she led him out into the hallway, the light from the gate behind her shoulders dimmed like the gate was sentient and knew no one had intentions to use it anymore.

Castiel inhaled wetly and when he blinked, hot wetness dragged down the skin of his face.

A cool thumb dragged across the back of his hand. “Come. I wish to show you something.”

He followed her because...what reason did he have anymore to not? He let her lead him down the corridor, away from the gates, unsure of where he was going and equally uncaring. Colour from the world slowly drained and the ache in his chest turned to numbness that began to pool into his vessel like poison. 

Dean was dead.

He was dead, and Sam was gone, and there was _nothing_ left for him anywhere. No one left that he loved. No one left who loved him, either.

 _Everything_ he’d ever done was for nothing.

He would never see Dean again.

He and Naomi had stopped walking and he didn’t realise it until she took him by the shoulders and turned him towards a wall made entirely of glass. 

“Look,” she urged, and he raised his eyes from the floor.

Through the glass was a small white room, the lights dimmer than the lights he was used to in his own cell, and in three rows were at least twenty small oval beds. Or rather, raised pillows on tall pillars; plush, fluffy, and covered a soft-looking silk. It was a nursery, of sorts. Dead center, in the row closest to the glass, slept one singular baby. 

His daughter slept peacefully, her small hands balled into gentle fists on her stomach. Even from the distance he saw that she had long lashes. They rested on her round cheeks as she slept, her small belly rising and falling under white clothing, a garment that was buttoned down the front, and enclosed around her tiny feet. 

“That nephil is all you have left of him, of Dean Winchester. If you comply with our wishes for you, if you voluntarily bear the children of Heaven. If you comply and give your womb to us willingly...then,” Naomi said, gesturing to the glass, to the beautiful small girl who had Dean’s chin and sandy hair, “she is yours entirely to raise as you please. You will face no interference from us, Castiel. We will never bother you except for implantation and births. Otherwise, you and your babe will never be left wanting for anything. We can give you a Heaven; we have millions. You choose yours and be left alone.”

His daughter, his and Dean’s, flexed her fingers on her stomach, and he could see the iridescent outlines of her tiny wings as they flexed, too. 

His fingers touched cool glass, and his heart seemed to scream.

Naomi’s hand was almost soothing against the hot skin of his back where sweat had gathered between his shoulder blades. 

“This is your chance,” Naomi murmured, “to serve Heaven once more. This is your chance to help us rebuild, to elevate Heaven back to the former glory it once was. It is currently in shambles, and the angels are acting recklessly and violently in response to fear. Castiel, we feel threatened. Desperate.”

His forehead pressed against glass, his heavy breaths fogging the glass and blurring his vision. Exhausted, his eyes slid shut.

“But you can save us, you can make more omega children, Castiel. You can even provide betas, if fate will allow it. With enough children, once they’ve grown to mature seraphs, we can raise a new generation to mate with our alphas, and after a few centuries, we can be the Heaven our father wanted for the humans once again. We can become protectors. And you… You can be useful.”

The magnitude of his grief, of his despair over the images of Dean’s death in his mind, seemed to shake the very edges of his vision as he opened his eyes. But the small baby in white with wings tinged in forest green was like a beacon.

She was the one thing he had left in all of the multiverses, the one thing left worth saving.

And, of course, he could be useful.

“Okay,” he breathed.

Feeling drained, he didn’t have the emotional strength to recoil when Naomi’s hand reached down to his front and her palm pressing against the soft swell that was already stretching the cotton of his shirt. 

“Good omega,” she said quietly, reverently. “Your servitude is honorable.”

The baby in him kicked her hand.

Castiel wanted to die.

***

Castiel wanted to die.

Dean could tell.

The graceless angels all worked swiftly and diligently to build Andi a funeral pyre, and it did not escape Dean’s notice that this was a hunter’s funeral. With red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained faces, the angels piled the wood and tied it in strong rope knots, uncaring that their hands shook and cracked in the late autumn freeze. Anael’s face was white and dull like the stark white snow that dotted her hair as she carried kindling out to the backfield where Andi was going to soon be put to rest.

Inside, other angels were packing.

They moved quickly, even quicker than the ones coordinating the funeral. Dean and Sam walked through the house, staring in numb shock as the community they’d walked into only days ago was being packed into boxes and loaded into vans. The gurneys and IV stands were being collapsed on guidance from quiet but firm orders from Rachel and Hael. While the quaint commune was being dismantled before their very eyes, Dean and Sam eventually settled in the kitchen, looking around at the open and empty cupboards. Hester’s face was pinched and drawn, her eyes red as she swiftly removed food from the fridge and packed it tightly into a cooler filled with ice. 

“Where are you all going?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He and Dean hadn’t said a word since the angels had all collapsed into a grieving group in the forest. 

“Somewhere else,” Hester murmured, her eyes lowered to her work. “We can’t stay here. The alphas know where we are.”

“You’ve done this before,” Sam pointed out.

Hester nodded, pausing as she realised she’d packed the cooler as high as she could. With a scowl at a carton of milk, she looked up at Sam and smiled tightly. “Yes. We’d been discovered before, though now we know we hadn’t so much been discovered as they’d always known where we were, didn’t they? Destroying our homes before had been some kind of sick sport for them, I’m sure.”

Sam tried to smile back, his dimples tight and eyes pinched at the corners. “Duma is gone now, though. Maybe your next home will be permanent.”

Hester’s jaw jumped and she shook her head, rising to her feet and walking over to the sink. Turning on the tap, she poured the milk down the drain. “Until the alphas are dead, nothing is guaranteed. Castiel has had a secondary spot warded and prepared for us as a backup plan; he’d never told any of us, of course. I think he knew there was a spy—”

Sam and Dean exchanged quick looks. 

Hester shook out the last dregs of milk from the blue carton and sighed, setting it aside. “It seems Hannah was the only one privvy to the location. She’ll be leading us out as soon as the flames fade to embers at And…” Hester’s voice cracked for a moment and she didn’t bother trying to finish her sentence. Her blue eyes gazed out painfully through the window over the sink, staring out into the back field. “He was very young, you know. For an angel.”

Silence fell over the kitchen.

At the mention of Hannah, Dean saw her in the backfield through the window, building the pyre with the rest of the angels, her face hard and drawn, too. Her eyes were determined. Even from far away, Dean could sense the hard anger in her shoulders, the deep sorrow that no doubt fueled vengeance.

“Where’s Castiel?” Dean asked in a quiet breath.

Hester lowered her gaze to the sink and the lines around her mouth deepened. “Upstairs with A…Andi.”

Dean rose to his feet and ignored Sam’s hand as it snapped out and grabbed at his wrist. “Dean, don’t. Let him just—”

The door muffled the rest of Sam’s words as Dean tugged himself loose and pushed through the doorway into the hallway. Perhaps Sam had a point that Dean should let him be, but Dean had never been any good at letting Castiel be, so his feet carried him up the stairs and around angels that shimmied past him, their arms filled with bags and rolled up mattresses.

While Dean hadn’t ever been shown where Castiel and Hannah slept, he knew where he was now. It was the only door on the entire top floor that was closed, nearly. As Dean approached it, he saw it was open just a crack.

He should’ve announced himself, but for a second, he felt breathless. Through the sliver he saw Castiel seated beside a large bed that was covered with a worn purple and mustard-coloured wool blanket where Andi rested. Castiel’s hands were covered in blood and dirt as they twisted a pink and brown-stained rag between his legs like a compulsion, like a twitch. His blue eyes were swimming in pain, his face twisted in mourning as he stared down at his son. 

“Tell me who the others are,” Castiel croaked, his voice sounding like it’d been shredded and dipped in acid. His lips trembled as he pressed them together tightly, tears fumbling down his face, tangling in his dark stubble.

Ishim stood at his side, his arms crossed. While the other angel did not weep, there was a distinctly exhausted look to his skin; under his eyes looked like they’d aged forty years. Ishim looked ragged.

“It wouldn’t help, my friend,” Ishim rasped quietly. His hand uncrossed from in front of his chest and an old, large hand settled on Castiel’s shoulder. “Knowing who they are wouldn’t do anything but bring more heartache—”

“Tell me,” Castiel whispered, his elbows on his knees, and his head curling down to rest on his knuckles as he swallowed down a rattling inhale. “If I had known about Samandriel, I...I could have protected him better.”

Ishim’s hand squeezed around Castiel’s shoulder. “My friend, your child or not, you did your best to protect him. You’ve never given any angel in this community less than your very best. You...You get attached. Knowing who they are, it may blind you, it…”

Trailing off, Ishim stared down at Andi’s grey face--Dean noticed it had been wiped clean. 

The two men sat in silence and Dean wondered if he should leave, come back to help Castiel later, but then…

“Anna was your first,” Ishim said. “Then Rachel and Inias.”

Castiel’s chin curled and touched his chest, his face disappearing under long locks of brown hair that fell across his forehead. The wet rag dropped to the floor with a thud and his bloody fingers curled in his hair. 

“They… They all fell with me.”

Ishim’s eyes slid closed and he pulled his hand up to his face, too, scrubbing his palm over his forehead. Dean thought he was done, but then Ishim continued gruffly, “Hael is your second youngest.”

Castiel raised his head, staring at his dead child through wet lashes, pulling a breath into his lungs thinly. Dean wasn’t even sure if Cas was really seeing anything, his eyes glossed over in thick tears. “Hael?” Castiel whispered. “Hael is one of mine?” 

Ishim nodded, even though Castiel couldn’t see him. Then, he finally said, “Samandriel was the last.”

The room fell quiet again, but only because Castiel released a shuddered sob and reached forward, his fingers shaking as they brushed down Andi’s face, pushing a blood-curled lock of hair from his temple. Ishim watched mournfully, his jaw jumping. 

Dean pushed open the door.

“Cas?” he said quietly. 

It was like Castiel hadn’t heard. He continued to stare at his dead child, his fingers brushing brown hair from his lifeless blue eyes. Dean wondered how Castiel hadn’t caught on earlier; the blue was uncanny.

As it was in Hael’s eyes, and Rachel’s, and Inias’, and like it had been in Anna’s.

Ishim did look up, though, and for a moment he looked wary, his arms dropping down to his sides, his face going hard. But then, as his eyes swept over Dean’s form, he relaxed. 

Dean realised he was being protective. As much of a jerk as Ishim had been in their universe, he was a pretty okay guy in this one.

“What is the progress downstairs?” Ishim asked, walking around the bed to approach Dean.

Not realizing he had a lump in this throat the size of a golf ball, Dean swallowed heavily and murmured hoarsely, “Good. House is basically nearly all packed. Your people work fast. And…” Dean glanced over at Castiel before quickly returning his gaze to Ishim’s tired face. “And the pyre is pretty much done.”

Ishim nodded solemnly, his hands rubbing at the hips of his jeans. Looking over his shoulder, he rasped, “I’ll assemble the angels outside, then. If… If you wouldn’t mind helping Castiel—”

“I don’t need help,” Castiel said flatly, his voice feather light. He was gazing at Samandriel’s face, his throat working. “It’s my fault he’s dead, I may as well be the one to carry him to his funeral.”

“Cas,” Dean said louder, stepping towards the bed.

Ishim stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Leaning in close to his ear, Ishim murmured, “Don’t waste your breath, Winchester. He’s in mourning, he won’t listen to reason.” With a short pause to look back at Cas, Ishim exhaled through his nose and glanced back at Dean. “Just walk with him. Be there in case he falls.”

Dean hadn’t been by Cas the last time he fell, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let him down now.

The men exchanged nods and Ishim disappeared after clapping Dean on the shoulder and stepping out into the hallway. To afford them privacy, Ishim closed the door behind himself with a click.

Then, it was just Dean and Castiel in the room. And, of course, Andi.

“Cas,” Dean croaked, stepping towards the bed. “I’m so s—”

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel whispered, tucking hair behind Andi’s ear gently. “I shouldn’t be allowed to draw comfort from that name. Not when everyone around me expects me to be Castiel, to lead them and protect them--”

Castiel’s voice caught in his throat.

Dean bowed his head, staring at the peeling wooden floor. “Castiel… I am _so_ sorry. I am so sorry about your son.”

_I am so sorry about your son, Cas. I am so sorry about Jack._

He should’ve spoken those words to his own Cas. He should’ve spoken them so much earlier than he had. Maybe that would’ve made some kind of difference.

“Look at his face,” Castiel whispered, a thick tear running down the side of his nose and over his lips. He tilted his head and his hand smoothed down Andi’s collar. “How did I fool myself all these years? He has my eyes. All of my children do. Perhaps I knew? Perhaps…”

No matter the vessel, Dean would always recognize Castiel’s eyes. They were unchanging. They were truly the window to his soul, a reflection of his true-form, whatever it was.

“There’s no way you could’ve known,” Dean said. “And Ishim is right; you protect everyone like they’re family. You turned a bunch of wayward angels into a fuckin’ community of people who love and take care of each other. Angels in my world? They don’t have that. They’d lost all sense of their purpose. They lost their ability to love like…like they’d been meant to love. But here, you fostered family where you all had none—”

“Perhaps,” Castiel went on faintly, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word Dean said. “Perhaps Andi knew? Maybe they all did.” Finally he raised his red eyes and Castiel’s gaze shattered Dean’s heart to pieces. “Maybe they followed me down here because they knew.”

Dean understood Cas in any universe too fucking well to know where this was going. Crossing the rest of the room in three quick, wide strides, Dean kneeled down beside Castiel and reached up, holding his hot, wet face in his hands. 

“This is not on you,” Dean whispered fiercely. “This is not your fault.”

Cas inhaled sharply, tears beading up on his lashes. He trembled in Dean’s hands. “They followed me down here a-and eventually they’ll all be slaughtered because of _me_. I’ve killed my own children.”

Castiel’s shoulders shook as a series of panicked breaths got sucked into his lungs and Dean moved to envelope him in a hug when Hannah’s quiet voice sounded from behind them.

“Castiel?” she asked gently. 

Cas raised his swimming eyes and Dean looked over his shoulder.

Hannah walked towards them, her eyes shining, too. 

Without any communication required, Dean rose to his feet and moved out of the way. Hannah slid into his spot easily, her hands taking Castiel’s.

Their foreheads pressed together.

“Everything is ready, Castiel,” she whispered.

“I can’t do this,” Castiel replied back, tears dripping off his jaw onto their clasped hands.

Hannah’s fingers uncurled from their fists to wipe at his cheek with the back of her knuckle. “I’ll help you, then.”

Of course, Dean thought. This was fitting. This was how it was supposed to be. 

Maybe Castiel hadn’t known Samandriel was his son, but he and Hannah lead this community of wayward angels. They kept everyone together. They’d been parents to Samandriel in their own way, to all of them.

Castiel didn’t need Dean or Ishim’s help. He needed Hannah’s.

It was fitting.

So he stood aside when the time finally came, when Hannah helped Castiel to his feet and helped him hoist his son into his arms. Dean trailed behind as Castiel and Hannah carried the boy down the stairs and through the house. 

Angels dropped what they were doing and followed, out into the cold.

Save for a few things left inside, the cars and vans were loaded, ready to be driven away to their new, temporary home where they might fear being driven out again. But until then, each angel came to pay their respects. 

In sync, with burning matches in their hands, the angels tossed the flames onto the gasoline, sending Andi’s remains up in smoke. From the sidelines, Dean and Sam watched the funeral. Sam watched the pyre and Dean watched Castiel, memorizing his face in grief, taking time to let the guilt and sorrow sink in. 

If he hadn’t owned up to it with his own Cas, he’d own up to it with this one. He’d let it soak in and let it drown him.

He was so overwhelmed with Castiel’s grief over his son that Dean didn’t notice the flashes of light behind him. 

But Sam did. Sam, and Hester, and Ishim. 

“ALPHAS!” Ishim roared, drawing his gun from behind his jeans, his eyes wide like saucers, spit flying from his mouth. 

Cast in the orange flicker from the fire, Castiel and Hannah turned, their sorrowful faces crumpling.

Dean spun around too as the angels cried out and chaos broke out in an instant.

Duma led the attack, her hands pressed against the warding, shattering and splintering it like glass. It crackled and broke, flashing brightly before it fizzled out all together. At her side, Uriel and Zachariah brandished their blades and they grinned with triumph as they led what seemed to be nearly fifty angels pouring through the break.

“I told you,” Zachariah laughed across the open field, pointing his blade at Dean. “I told you I’d be seeing you soon!”

The sounds of gunfire exploded from either side of him and Dean fell to the ground, his vision going white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm such a sleepy girl but I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER. What did you think? Let me know in the comments, I love to hear your feedback.


	10. The Coward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for tolerating the long wait. I'd been super busy with work and travelling, so this chapter was a struggle to get together quickly. But I'm pleased with how it turned out, hopefully you think so, too!
> 
> THANK YOU TO son_of_a_bitch_spn_family for the betaing. She is the wind beneath my wiiiiiings.

The second life to come from Castiel’s body had quite possibly hurt more than the first. Gestation had taken a third of the time as it had for the nephil, possible due to the purity of its blood and its conception in Heaven, but the birth had been ten times harder. The very scorching burn inside his body as the baby’s grace had tried to sear its way out had Castiel in shock for nearly a day afterwards. He felt numb and his brain fogged badly as he tried to process the trauma. Even Naomi had stopped the other angels from forcing a heat. 

“We don’t want to break him entirely,” she had said.

And to his surprise, she’d kept her word in the regard that she would give him a few days before another implantation. Also, he’d be allowed to have his daughter. 

They gave him his nephil the moment the other one had been taken from him. Although…’taken’ wasn’t exactly the right word. He hadn’t begged for this one to be given to him, he hadn’t mourned her seperation. Despite the fact that she had no fault in her own conception, there was still anger and resentment that settled inside him. 

He resented his second baby and he hated himself for it. She’d done him no wrong, not for a second of her life. But the trauma made him disconnected. 

When he’d been allowed to see her a few days later, he saw Sophia’s facial features in the babe’s face. 

It wasn’t her fault she’d been conceived through violence and coercion. It wasn’t the tiny thing’s fault, he told himself. She was pure, and just as _his_ as his nephil, but…

Castiel curled on his side, his arms tugging his nephil towards him as she slept on her back on the bed. He pulled up his legs and tilted his head down, inhaling the soft smell of her hair. She smelled like rain and leather, of a memory that he ached to recall, of a father she’d never, ever meet, and a love Castiel hadn’t ever been given a chance to speak out loud. 

His daughter wriggled and mushed her lips together, her clumsy hand coming up and rubbing at her eyes. On her stomach, her soft little nails scrubbed at her round belly and her legs kicked out as she woke, grunting and growling like she was irritated with wakefulness.

“You’re an angry sleeper. Like a bear,” Castiel murmured fondly, running his finger down her tiny nose. 

On either side of her, her iridescent, translucent wings fluttered and stretched as she yawned. Her green eyes squinted at him as if to say, “I’d still be sleeping if you hadn’t been aggressively cuddling me.”

Despite her little grunts and annoyed kicks, Castiel sat up and scooped her into his arms as he rose from the bed. He crossed his cell, which was less of a prison now, seeing as the locks had been taken off and the door unlocked. He still had cuffs around his wrists sealing in his grace, but he was ‘free’ otherwise. Once he’d made enough children to satisfy his quota, he’d be given a Heaven, eventually, and the cuffs would come off.

Walking down the hallway, purposely avoiding Nathainiel’s gaze as he walked past him in the hallway--monitoring him, no doubt--Castiel made his way towards the nursery. It was a bit of a walk, but the time it took him to get there usually gave him enough time to build up the courage to see the other little one.

When he got there, he froze at the doorway.

Sophia was staring down at the baby as it slept on its small pillow. The angel tilted her head at the baby as if examining a curious amoeba under a microscope. Nothing on her face expressed love or even fondness, just cold examination.

Despite everything that he’d ever been, every war he’d fought and enemy he’d come face-to-face with, these alphas gave him pause. This alpha, especially. She made him feel fear, he realised as he found a lump in his throat the size of a softball and a trembling sensation in his stomach anyone else might call anxiousness.

Sohpia noticed him come in and she raised her head, her shoulder curling back. “The fledgling we created—” Castiel felt sick. “--she looks strong. When she’s grown, she’ll be a good soldier.”

Castiel was very, very close to turning and walking back to his cell. He’d even ask them to lock it for him, just so long as he was away from Sophia.

“Of course,” he murmured instead, hugging his nephil closer to his chest.

Sophia stepped away from the fledgling, her hands linked behind her back. “I should think we should mate more often. Heaven will need competent soldiers and fertile omegas to become as impermeable as it once was before.”

The very thought of being under Sophia, or making more fledglings with her, or even just thinking that this angel considered what happened to him ‘mating’...it all made him sick. When she walked by him to exit, he found himself instinctually stepping back to clear her path, the wall cold behind his hot, sweating back. He held his breath as she passed, even though nothing about her body language was aggressive in that moment.

When she was gone, he inhaled a few times, finding himself a bit breathless, his lungs burning. 

It was only once the sound of her footsteps had faded all the way down the corridor that Castiel stepped forward, his face burning with anger and shame at the way he'd stepped back from Sophia, at the way he'd _cowered_.

He had truly given up, hadn't he?

With his nephil warm on his chest, although he felt cold everywhere else, he walked cautiously through the rows of empty beds he'd in time fill with fledglings. Stopping at the head of the crib where his first pure fledgling slept, Castiel gazed down at her. 

With a nervous hand, he reached down and ran his fingers over the whisper of hair on her head. She was warm and soft just like his nephil. When his skin touched hers, she mewed a bit and scrunched her lips together in her sleep, much like his nephil did.

"I'm sorry, tiny one," Castiel murmured, and he was; he did feel sorry. Smoothing her hair down, he felt his eyes burn as his heart hid in hesitation. "I'm sorry that I am unable to connect with you. It's...not your fault. It's mine."

Well, it was Naomi's fault. And Sophia. And it was the fault of each angel who held him down and thought there was some kind of honour in what he and they did. 

Castiel turned his wrist and ran the back of his knuckle down her supple, warm cheek that was as round as her chubby fingers and soft as her hair.

"My nephil and I came from something else, from somewhere else. You...you are good and pure, and you do not deserve the othering my heart forces upon you," Castiel whispered, tilting his head as he watched her small fists curl and uncurl against her stomach. "I'm just struggling to accept you. To...to trust you although everything in me says I should. I'm…"

Castiel realised, for the first time, he knew how Dean had felt about Jack all those times when he'd just begged him to trust him. Jack had been good, but he'd come from something evil, something impure...

And he knew, finally, a little bit about how broken and twisted Dean may have felt.

Because now he felt it, too.

***

The destruction had been absolutely heart shattering. 

After a swift but devastating fight, the alpha angels left looking triumphantly at the farmhouse swallowed in flames. Despite a handful of suited corpses burning in holy oil, they didn't seem perturbed that they'd lost more angels.

Perhaps now they knew they could just make more. 

Everything had been burned down. Everything had been destroyed. The wards, the house, the food, clothing, supplies. Cars with supplies, belongings, and weapons had been turned over and the fields surrounding them we're roaring with flames that Dean now wasn't sure was caused by the good side or the bad one. 

Andi’s pyre had been destroyed. Blasted to pieces by Zachariah himself, who had grinned as Castiel roared with rage, the alpha pleased with himself for taunting the grieving omega. 

In the moments after the angels touched down, Dean had been brought to his knees as white light had blinded him, images flashing across his vision of Cas under Uriel, his hands bound by chains, and Uriel’s hands dragging down his hips. He heard a struggle and saw strange warded handcuffs tugging at the bottom of a table leg, iron clanging and straining. Around him, he heard fighting and a chorus of pounding footsteps as both sides charged at each other. Hands that he knew belonged to Sam pulled him to his feet, but Dean’s hands were gripping his own head, still blinded as more images burst in his brain, making his ears ring. Cas stood in a hallway, looking broken, staring through glass, his hand in Naomi’s…

Dean would eventually come out of the visions, but when he did, the battle had been going on for several minutes. He’d been hidden by Sam, pushed behind the chicken pen Hannah had said was unused, sandwiched between the side of a van and the house. His face stung where Sam had slapped him, and his shoulders felt bruised where Sam had been clinging to him, shaking him.

They’d joined the fight for the last half. Dean had even taken out an angel or two despite the lingering ache from images of Cas being forced into his brain, no doubt by Uriel or Zachariah in attempts to torture him. 

They didn’t know him as well as they thought, though, because all it did was make Dean angrier. All it did was fill him with drive.

He was going to save Cas, and he was going to slaughter them all on the way to him.

Sam took down a few angels--some they recognized from their past, and some they did not. It was Sam who pulled Benjamin and Ishim to the ground as Duma hurled a three-thousand pound car at them, the whirling mass barely missed skinning their heads as it soared past them and crashed into the barn where Andi had shown Dean how to melt down angel blades.

The graceless angels were outnumbered, but they all carried rage and vengeance in their hearts, filling them with enough righteous power to hold their own against the angels. There were more suited dead corpses on the ground than graceless ones. Castiel almost joined them in the dirt as he fought Zachariah, his movements fast but clumsy in grief after Andi’s pyre was destroyed, the embers, remains, and fiery bundle of sticks causing a spread of fire around them.

Hannah saved him, throwing a molotov just close enough to send Zachairah stumbling back from a blow he nearly landed to Castiel’s head with the back of his angel blade.

It didn’t matter why they’d come; whether it was to kill Castiel, disrupt the funeral, destroy the compound, murder Sam and Dean, or simply to remind the graceless angels they were disadvantaged. In the end, after Sam clapped his hand over a sigil he’d painted in blood on a wooden barrel, taking out half the alphas that didn’t have time to take shelter from the blast, they left with triumph in their glowing eyes, the fire from all around them flickering across their smirking faces.

They’d have to have more funerals, Dean realised, his knees in the dirt, his chest heaving as the chaos settled to stillness. Around them, there were dead vessels in suits, their eyes empty. But also, among fires and puddles of blood in snow, there were corpses of graceless angels; Benjamin from the kitchen, a guy named Neil who had a friendly smile and wore gold-rimmed glasses, Elijah, who Dean had met just that morning, and a mere few feet away, a woman named Rebecca. 

He hadn’t known them longer than a day, but for the community of angels who had no home anymore, and for the family of these wayward angels, Dean’s heart mourned. 

Behind him, Hael was sobbing, her face in Sam’s chest. She stomped her foot in anger, and Sam hugged her closer, his face dirty, red, and mournful, too.

Dean got to his feet, inhaling the smell of fire, looking around as the graceless angels regrouped. He saw a few run to a well and begin to gather water, and others stand to watch their home burn to the ground. Rachel was leaning over the bodies, checking them for signs of life, though she knew they were dead; the ashes from their wings smudged the denim of her jeans at the knees. Angels Dean had seen helping her in the infirmary were helping tend to the wounded.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean turned to see Sam holding Hael at arms length, his knees bent as he leaned down to catch her eye. 

Hael ran her hands under her eyes, pulling away tears, mascara smudged on her cheeks. “I’m going to kill them. I’m going to rip them apart with my bare hands,” she hissed, her chest jumping as she hiccuped.

With that, she jerked herself away from Sam and turned on her heel, sweeping away to help elsewhere. 

Sam’s gazed turned on Dean and again, his hands rested on Dean’s shoulders. His eyes, worrying like they’d been when on Hael, surveyed Dean’s face. “What about you?” Sam asked firmly. “What happened there, Dean?”

Dean reached up and rubbed at his head which still smarted, and he noticed his hand come back smeared with blood--not his, he knew. “Those fuckers made me see visions of Cas. It hurt like a bitch, like they fuckin’ nailed me in the head with a brick. You...uh, you okay, too?”

Sam nodded, but Dean saw the green of his jacket turning a dark brown at his shoulder. Hazel eyes followed Dean’s gaze and Sam admitted, “I got shoved against the house at some point. My graze from a few days ago opened again. I’ll be fine.” Sam hesitated. “How’s Cas? Is he…”

“Alive?” Dean asked. He huffed mirthlessly, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I think so, but…. They wanted me to see they’re hurting him. Dunno what they thought they were achieving, but all this means is it’s gonna smart that much worse when I fucking kill all of them. Uriel and Zachariah first. For Cas. For both of the Cas’. And...And if he’s dead, then… Fuck.” Dean dropped his hands to his sides and he breathed, “If he’s dead, I’ll lose my mind, Sam. I can’t do it again. I don’t think I could take it another time.”

Sam’s hand squeezed around Dean’s shoulder and he nodded again. “Of course. I get it. I always knew...there was _something…”_ Sam’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nevermind, it’s not the time.”

But Dean stared into Sam’s conflicted face and he nodded. “You told me not to touch him and you were right to. We didn’t listen and… I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes lifted from Dean’s face and wandered over his shoulder. “We’ll talk later, Dean. It’s not the time.”

“Sam—”

Sam’s hands were firmer when they turned Dean just enough to see Ishim trudge up to Cas and Hannah, who were helping a limping Hester over to a van that had been spared, helping her sit in the open trunk as Rachel’s helpers threw a blanket around her shoulders.

Behind them, Ishim was running, calling out Castiel’s name. Dean and Sam watched Castiel’s face grow from angry to angrier as Ishim came to a stop and spoke at them, his face near Castiel’s. 

Quickly, Castiel and Hannah exchanged looks, and then followed Ishim behind the house with a determined snap to their steps.

“Something’s going on,” Sam murmured. “Let’s go.”

As Castiel followed, as he wiped the back of his hand across his dirty, ash-smudged face, his blue eyes glanced at Dean sharply and he nodded as if to say, _“Come. Now.”_

Without needing verbal cues, the Winchesters fell into step with the leaders. They weaved through graceless angels helping each other, and salvaging supplies from vans half-on fire, and putting out flames. They stepped over bodies of alphas and side-stepped puddles of roaring holy oil that had been thrown at vessels vulnerably full of grace.

“What’s up, Castiel?” Dean asked lowly, his hot face growing cooler as they left the fires and smoke behind. Away from the crumbling farmhouse, behind it and near a black truck parked far from the house near a small shed that’d been untouched by the attack, stood a tall woman with muscled shoulders and intricate tattoos on her dark brown skin. She stood on the other side of the pick-up truck, visible over the farthest edge of the trunk, her gaze cast downwards, staring at something with anger. 

“Ezekiel,” Castiel asked roughly, demanding. “The captive; is he alive?”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks of surprise. Ezekiel...that was the angel Cas had spoken so highly of back in their universe, the one Gadreel had paraded around as to escape detection. In their universe, Ezekiel had died in the fall from Heaven. Dean and Sam had never met them, they’d only heard Cas praise them honourably. 

Ezekiel’s dark eyes snapped up and she nodded, a bloody braid swinging into her eyes. “Yes, Castiel. I pursued him back here; he was attempting to hide.”

“Coward,” Castiel growled, his pounding footsteps quickening as he led Hannah, Ishim, and the Winchesters around the truck. As soon as they saw the prisoner, Dean came to an abrupt stop, his heart dropping. Beside him, Sam sucked in a sharp breath.

Gadreel.

Gadreel was seated on the ground against the trucks flank, staring up shamefully at them, his eyes pinched at the corners, his fingernails digging into the ground by his hips. He wasn’t restrained, though he was kept sitting pretty by the end of Ezekiel’s rifle pointed between his eyes.

“You fucking coward,” Castiel snarled, and Ishim and Hannah had to launch at their leader, holding Castiel back as he tried to lunge at the captive alpha, his feet skidding in the dirt as he was pulled away by worried hands. Still, Gadreel winced as Castiel kicked dirt in his face and spat at him, proprietary thrown to the wind as their home crumbled to ashes behind them, no doubt showering survivors in embers of everything they’d fought for.

In the dirt, Gadreel did not turn away from the spray of dirt, instead bowing his head and simply raising a hand to wipe it from his eyes. 

“You come to our home with those monsters, and you try to _hide_ as they murder our people, _”_ Castiel rasped, his shoulder shaking his rage, his words coming out like molten fury. Dean watched sweat cut through the ash on his face. “I always pitied you for your captivity, but now I see you deserved every second of your imprisonment because you’re the disgusting traitor everyone always thought you were. You spineless little _bitch_ , Gadreel,” Castiel went on, his eyes alight. “ _Hiding_ from us after you came through that broken ward with the rest of those—”

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” Gadreel interrupted, his throat working under sweaty skin layered in ash. Dean watched him shift uncomfortably. “I was hiding from _them._ ”

Castiel made a hoarse noise of disbelief, while Hannah tilted her head at his side, still holding tightly to his arm. 

“Hiding from them? Why?” she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Gadreel looked between everyone, his eyes wide, then, after a clench of his jaw, he replied, “I was hoping they would think I died. I...had been hoping to fake my death here. I wanted to run, to remove my grace.”

Ishim let go of Castiel, and this time he was the one who needed holding back as he snapped the safety off of his angel-killing gun, pointing it at Gadreel’s face. Surprisingly, Castiel was the one to reach out and take his wrist, pointing the gun up in the air, away from where the bullet might bury itself between Gadreel’s eyes.

“We’ll let him talk,” Castiel growled bitterly. “And if he tries to lie, then we’ll make sure the angels think he’s dead.” Castiel jerked his arm out of Hannah’s grasp and he lowered himself to a crouch, pointing a shaking finger at Gadreel, who stared down its length fearfully. “We’ll make it genuine, do you understand?”

Swallowing hard, Gadreel nodded. 

Ezekiel lowered her rifle, Ishim clicked the safety off his gun, and Castiel grabbed Gadreel by the arm, wrenching him to his feet.

Looking over his shoulder, giving the burning house and collapsing barn one last glance, Dean and Sam followed the angels into the small tool shed tucked beside a tangle of thorny bushes, and they piled in, eager to hear from the coward.

***

“As soon as they felt Dean and Sam Winchester exist again in this universe, they feared the prophecy would be realised,” Gadreel explained minutes later, looking between the six people who stood around him in a half-circle, glaring at him, their hands all ready to reach for weapons to kill him if he made the smallest wrong move.

“What’s this prophecy say, exactly?” Sam asked, confused. Of course, Dean already knew, because Andi and Castiel had explained.

“Dean and Samuel Winchester would save Heaven,” Hannah explained, interrupting Gadreel as he opened his mouth to answer. “We all thought that meant that you’d play your roles, that Michael and Lucifer would battle, Lucifer would lose immediately, and that Heaven would once again return to—”

“The big happy family that you never were in the first place?” Dean added lowly, his arms crossed over his chest, his shoulder aching against the cold siding of the dusty shed. 

Hannah sighed, but Ishim raised his brows at Dean as if to say _“touche”._

Gadreel swallowed loudly. “And the angel, the omega. We felt him arrive in this universe with you both. I was still in my cell at that time. It was weeks later when he was captured, after they felt a nephil sparked into creation.”

Beside him, Dean felt Sam’s gaze on him. Everyone else was gazing at him, too, as he quickly looked down to the ground, watching his feet, but Sam’s stare was the burning one. 

“Weeks?” Sam asked slowly, though he kept his eyes on his brother. “Cas was taken the day after we arrived.”

“Time passes differently in Heaven,” Ishim muttered lowly, shifting on his feet, reaching up to brush sweat from his temple. The shed was hot with all their bodies inside of it and from the rippling heat from the fires outside. “A day here is a few weeks up there.”

“This is _not_ important,” Castiel interrupted angrily, glancing at Ishim before returning his gaze to Gadreel. “Tell us why you’ve ran. Give me a reason why I should not bury a sigiled bullet in your empty skull, traitor.”

“I told you,” Gadreel implored. “I was trying to escape. I...have been just as much of a prisoner as the Castiel they have held up in Heaven. As much of a prisoner as I’d always been. Please, believe me.”

“This is bullshit,” Dean growled.

Gadreel shook his head. “I...was freed after they brought the new omega up to Heaven. They’d freed me to force my seed inside him, they’d said they’d found a way to make me useful, so that no alpha would go to waste as our numbers were dwindling. But what they’re doing up there… The longer I was freed from my cell, the more I saw and heard, the more I realised that the Heaven I was freed into was not the one I’d left millennias ago.”

“You don’t say,” Ishim snorted, rolling his eyes, the distaste he harboured for the traitor clear as day on his face. 

“The desperation from the alphas has contorted them into something impure. They rape and torture, and they genuinely believe that it is necessary. In some…” Gadreel’s face twisted. “In some of them, I sense true enjoyment. They revel in cruel domination. They _believe_ that what they’re doing is the right way, the true way back to power, back to survival. It’s as if they believe the cruelty is justified if it populates Heaven.”

“What had they been doing to the humans they’d taken?” Hannah asked hesitantly. Around her, the other angels perked up as well, their shoulders tightening as they anticipated the answer.

Gadreel swallowed. Even his angelic vessel was sweating, a drop falling from his chin onto the rotting wooden floorboards under their feet. “They tried to implant them with nephilim in...any way possible.”

“By force,” Castiel choked out, looking white under the ash and dirt on his skin.

Ezekiel bared her teeth. “Savages.”

“Yes,” Gadreel replied. “From what I’ve gathered, the humans did not survive. We all know humans do not carry angelic seed; it only works the other way around. Their physiology cannot contain angels. They...” Gadreel looked a bit white, too, mirroring Castiel’s discomfort. “I was still imprisoned during these experiments, but they’d hold the humans in cells adjacent to mine. I heard their screams sometimes. I heard them as they perished. It was always violent. It was _always_ sickening.”

“Those poor people,” Hannah breathed, bowing her head for a moment, as if grieving for them, as if taking a moment to grieve them all. “We’d thought that’s what they’d been taken for, but we’d never been able to confirm.”

Another discrepancy between their universes. Kelly had carried Jack to term with no issues. Of course, she’d died in the end, but Jack had been born. Born in a blast of grace that rattled through the fabric of the universes, only to die two years later...

Dean raised his head, his brows knitting. “But you said you felt it when me and Cas—”

Dean stopped, feeling Sam’s stare, his throat clamming up and tightening. 

Fuck it.

“When me and Cas made ours,” Dean finished, his words choked. “You said you all felt it.”

Beside him, Sam breathed out his name. Everyone had been hinting at it, even outwardly confirming, but perhaps he’d been waiting for Dean to say it.

Hannah nodded. “It was conceived on earth. The proximity of the conception was enough for us to feel it in our very makeup. But conceptions in Heaven would be too far. That’s an entire other plane, Dean.”

Dean pushed off the wall and stood in front of Gadreel, shoulder-to-shoulder with Castiel. “Listen,” he said, lacking the anger that everyone else harboured. Desperately, Dean asked, “You have to tell me; is Cas alive? The visions…”

“They forced images into your mind,” Gadreel supplied, wincing with pity. “It was part of the plan. Naomi is a manipulator, Dean. She, Uriel, and Zachariah needed you and your brother out of the way. They thought by distracting you, your brother would be distracted as well. They...fear you both. With you returned to this universe, they fear that you’ll tear down the Heaven they’ve been trying to rebuild.”

“And the images?” Dean asked. At his sides, his thumbs rubbed at his sweating fingers. “Are they real? Is Cas… Are they… Are they hurting him like that? Like they hurt the humans?”

Gadreel swallowed again, licking at his dry lips. His light eyes glanced around as if waiting for someone to bail him out, but eventually he stared up at Dean and nodded.

“Yes,” Gadreel whispered. “They have forced themselves on him. To date, he has carried a nephil and a fledgling to term already. Naomi has convinced him you are all dead. She’s convinced him there is no one coming for him, that there is nothing left outside of Heaven for him to return to.”

“Cas would _never_ believe that,” Sam snapped, angry.

The lines around Gadreel’s lips deepened and he nodded. “Yes, Samuel. He does. They’ve drained the angel of all hope. He is submissive now to their will. It is, of course, all of Naomi’s puppeteering. She’s removed his restraints to reinforce her lies, allowed him freedom, and even allowed him a short reprieve from the next implantation. She’s convinced him she wishes for him to feel welcome, to feel comfortable. It’s how she holds him under her thumb, Dean Winchester. Castiel has lost all hope and Naomi has provided him the first mercy in months. She wields it like a weapon.”

Deep in his stomach, he ached with anger and pain. Dean breathed carefully, his vision seeming to blur on the edges. He would see red if his world didn’t seem to momentarily drain of colour.

“And the nephil?” Dean croaked.

Gadreel smiled a small, sad smile. “Perfect. She is perfect, Dean; she has ebony wings streaked in hues of deep emerald and sapphire. And...Castiel has her, for now. Until...Until the next time he steps out of turn, then they’ll take her away. As long as he remains compliant, he has her to himself, to safeguard.”

Everyone in the shed was silent and Dean felt all of their eyes on him. Outside, he heard voices calling for Castiel and Hannah and Ishim. 

“What will you do to me?” Gadreel asked quietly, his chest rising and falling slowly, though more sweat beaded on his brow. “I am not lying. I do not wish any more harm. I never did.”

“What do you think?” Ishim asked with a gruff grunt, nodding at Castiel. 

Castiel lifted his chin, surveying the angel. “I wish nothing more than to watch an alpha burn to death in the flames where we used to find comfort.”

Gadreel’s face fell.

Ezekiel raised her rifle, fingers flexing around the trigger. “Shall I—”

“But,” Castiel went on firmly, “I do not sense that he lies, and while I wish for vengeance, it would be misplaced in his death.”

Behind Dean, Sam exhaled slowly with relief.

Gadreel stepped away from the wall he’d been backed into and he begged, “Show me how to fall, how to remove me grace. I-I can be of assistance. I wanted to stay in Heaven, to protect it, but my loyalty, I realised, is not to Heaven, it is to the angels who serve as God intended—”

Dean stepped forward, and the movement had Gadreel stepping away, his back thumping against the wall again.

“No,” Dean said suddenly, “you keep that grace where it is. I have a way for you to be loyal to Heaven, and a way for you to fix your mistakes.”

Gadreel tilted his head.

Beside him, he felt Sam step up. “Dean’s right,” Sam said in realisation. “You’re going to need that grace to make this right.”

“I don’t understand,” Gadreel said slowly, looking between them.

It seemed, he was the only one. Around them, the rest of the graceless angels murmured and gasped. 

Castiel stepped up on Dean’s other side and when Dean looked over, his blue eyes twinkled triumphantly. “Listen to the Winchesters, Gadreel. Listen carefully.”

“The prophecy,” Hannah whispered, inspired.

“How many angels are there in Heaven?” Sam demanded. “Total.”

Gadreel struggled, blinking hard. Then, he choked out, “Fifty? Perhaps less after the attack. The lights barely stay on, t-they flicker sometimes. Half the doors to the Heavens do not work… Yes, I would say less than fifty.”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks, then glanced at Castiel, who nodded.

Turning his head to face their hostage, Dean pointed at Gadreel. “You ain’t gonna die today, Gadreel. Not for real, and not to the angels. You’re gonna march your ass right back into Heaven, and you’re taking us with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment to let me know what you think! I have one chapter left, then an epilogue. As we draw to a close, your feedback and comments mean so much. It's been so nice to hear what y'all have been thinking as we've gone through the story.
> 
> I'll have the next chapter up some time next week.


	11. The Parent Trap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been waiting patiently for this next chapter. This chapter is huge and obviously, the world has been insane the last few weeks so writing took a backseat. But I am home now so the next chapter will be coming out very shortly--I'm working on it today, so look out for it in the next few days. 
> 
> I wanna take a second to dedicate this chapter (and let's be honest, this whole damn fanfic) to MalMuses and son_of_a_bitch_spn_family (SOBS) because they are exceptionally good people and wonderful friends. I could not have asked for better cheerleaders, who keep me motivated with their enthusiasm and excitement for this story. Mal's helped me navigate through big plotholes and tolerated me flailing about writing this, and SOBS has been my cheerleader and beta, fixing my horrible typos and rangling those commas. These two writers are awesome friends and exceptionally amazing writers, I recommend checking out both of their libraries of stories. You'll be in for a treat.
> 
> Warning for secondary character death, violence, and grief in this chapter. 
> 
> Go forth and enjoy!

“I said _on your knees_.”

The two angels guarding Heaven’s gate stared down coldly through narrowed eyes as they watched Gadreel force Castiel and Hannah onto their knees. When Hannah faltered, slipping on the hard mud frozen over at night, they didn’t move a muscle other than ones it took to raise their eyebrows. 

Neither did Gadreel, who smirked down at his captives. Beside Hannah, Castiel was fuming, his nostrils flaring as he breathed hard, his face tinged with red against the cold, his fury etched into the lines of his face. In the rope binding his hands behind his back, his wrists twisted.

The warding of Heaven’s gate taunted them as it shimmered lightly against the doors of an old steel factory. The faintly silver magic twinkled against the ugly orange rust lining the crevices between the doors and gathered around its hinges. It made sense, for the ugliest of God’s angels to choose the ugliest of locations for Heaven’s gate.

“We thought you were dead,” one of the angels—Azrael—said slowly at Gadreel, his light eyes shadowed in darkness as they surveyed him suspiciously.

“I hid,” Gadreel said proudly, tipping up his chin. “Once the wingless traitors had their guards down, I captured these two whilst they did a patrol of the perimeter.” 

The second angel beside Azrael named Fezrasil, an alpha who used to coordinate cupids back in the less problematic days of Heaven, scowled.

“You expect us to believe that you captured the infamous Castiel and his second in command because _you hid_.” Fezra raised her blade and pointed to Castiel, the tip of the weapon tapping at the bottom of his chin until Castiel raised his face. “He looks unharmed. As does she.”

Gadreel looked around at the dilaptated, grungy parking lot, his own brow curled. “Do you see an army behind me? What are you implying, Azrael? Surely, if you believe any wrong-doing, you are confident enough to be forthright.”

The gate’s guardians gripped onto their weapons tighter, the light reflecting from the snowy ground making them sparkle.

“They were alone,” Gadreel explained flatly. “Vulnerable as they sought a moments’ reprieve to grieve of losing many in their ranks. I saw an opportunity and took it. Please,” he added, voice taking on a desperate tone, his own blade wobbling behind his captives as he gestured to them, “allow me to take these two to Naomi, to bring these traitors to justice. I’ve done such wrongs, I yearn to make amends.”

Hannah struggled to find balance on her knees, her breath puffing out in front of her angry face as the cold morning chill bit at their skin. She and Castiel exchanged looks of irritation. 

“As if _we’re_ the traitors,” Hannah growled from between her teeth, addressing Gadreel although she eyed the two guards with hatred. “Who was the dimwit who allowed _Lucifer_ into the garden—oof!”

The sole of Gadreel’s foot thumped against Hannah’s back as he pushed her roughly to the ground. 

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath. “ _Hannah.”_

“Silence, omega. Know your place,” Gadreel said abruptly, his tone cold. “For too long you have been allowed to defy and behave mutinously. You two will pay for your war crimes.”

“When I get out of these bindings, Gadreel—” Castiel turned to look up at the angel that towered over him, his eyes flashing. “—you will regret every cowardly move you’ve ever made in your pathetic life—”

Castiel’s words were swallowed as he grunted and groaned, doubling over from a rough kick to his stomach thanks to Fezra’s limited patience.

“Enough,” she said, voice slippery as oil. Her long black hair fluttered in the breeze as she nodded behind her. “We’ll let you in, but Azrael is going to accompany you. Get the prisoners to their feet.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel snapped, coughing wetly, still half-curled over in pain, his face red.

Fezra rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, her blade swinging down lazily to her side as she faced the gates and raised a hand. As she swept her fingers over it, using grace-magic to activate the sorcery required to open Heaven, Azrael pulled Hannah roughly to her feet, following Gadreel’s lead with Castiel.

“Time to go where you belong,” Azrael said smugly, his face nearly blocked out by the light. “Face down in a jail cell for eternity.”

The heat of Heaven’s grace warmed them all as the magic activated and the doors began to open. They nearly had to wince as the white light between the rusted opening glowed brightly, welcoming them home.

“We’ll most certainly be going where we belong,” Castiel said, staring into the light with an air of triumph, drawing the attention of the guards who turned to him in displeasure. “It just won’t be face down in a cell.”

The ropes behind Castiel’s wrists fell to the ground, cut loose by Gadreel’s blade, and he swung the weapon—sneakily handed to him—through the air, the sharp edge slicing a clean cut across Azrael’s throat. 

Fezra barely had time to react as Hannah did the same, after yanking her hidden blade from the back of her jeans. 

Gadreel jumped between them and slid in between the gates, his palms holding the doors open before they could close. “Quickly,” Gadreel urged. “Work quickly.”

Azrael and Fezra gasped and gurgled, and their knees grew weak as their vessels seemed to crumple to the ground, but Hannah and Castiel were there, respectively ready as they caught the guards in their arms. Warm, powerful, rippling grace curled up from the guards’ gaping skin and whisked up into the air, moving towards the next, most neediest vessels.

Castiel and Hannah inhaled deeply and audibly, their gasps muffled as grace swooped into their mouths with purpose. Their eyes glowed and under their translucent skin, they shone as grace found a new home inside them, filling their yearning vessels with energy they had craved for so long. Castiel heard the thumps of Azrael and Fezra’s bodies drop unceremoniously to the ground as they were dropped, but he hardly seemed able to care about anything other than the burning, welcome heat roaring inside him, filling every crevice of his body, his vessel, with power and magic and _home_. 

When he blinked and came down from a rushing high he hadn’t experienced in over eleven years, he felt Hannah’s hands on his face and saw her—her true self, her true form, beaming from inside her vessel. Behind her, he saw two beautiful, wide wings tinged in swirling, oily tones of green and magenta, of purples and azure…

“Your wings,” Castiel breathed, his vision shaking with relief. His hands came up to slide over hers. “I can see your wings.”

“Yours, too,” Hannah laughed, the sound so carefree and light, more than it had been in a decade. “They’re beautiful, Castiel.”

He felt them, too. And he stretched them out, nearly groaning as they ached in relief and shuddered. The joints creaked and trembled joyfully. It’d been so long since he’d felt them. They’d been so far away…

“Call them,” Gadreel urged, his arms shaking in effort to hold open the gates. 

His hand slid from Hannah’s and grappled at his back pocket until he pulled out his phone. Barely able to see from the glory of his home gates, Castiel punched at the keys and raised the device to his ear, meanwhile unable to look away from Hannah’s stunning, glowing face, and unable to stop the pounding of his heart in his chest.

“Dean,” Castiel rasped. “It’s time. Bring the others.”

***

There was no question about the graceless angels’ strength and resilience of loyalty to their leader. When Castiel stood in front of them in the shadow of their burning home and explained candidly what their plans were, not a single angel backed down, or walked away, or even hesitated. Despite being presented options to stay behind, every angel stood tall, with conviction to their cause, with allegiance to their leader.

They wanted to go home. They wanted to reclaim their posts as protectors of humanity, of guardians of Heaven. They wanted to fight. 

Dean felt a swell of pride for Castiel, and he felt a swell of relief that they wanted to help save _his_ Cas.

Now, they all stood outside a rusted fence that curled around an enormous property littered with abandoned piles of steel beams, forklifts, trucks, scrap, and zoom booms. At one point in time, this looked to have been a large manufacturing plant or steel factory of some kind. Thousands of people must’ve worked here; now it was condemned, abandoned. Empty of all life.

Except, for some stupid reason, the gates to Heaven were hidden behind a set of doors past the pile of wasted raw materials that spanned around the building on the other side of the fence. Dean and Sam hid in bushes across the street from the factory, while angels huddled in groups, their eyes on the property as well, their hands clenched with conviction around their weapons. 

They’d brought all the weapons they had left, anything that wasn’t destroyed in the attack. All ammo was either in their guns or strapped to their bodies. There hadn’t been enough bullet-proof vests to go around, but Dean and Sam had been given some. The angels had insisted.

But since Rachel was all set, Dean gave his to Hael, and Sam to Inias. They needed to protect Castiel’s remaining children, and Dean doubted the angels were coming at him and Sam with bullets.

They’d aim directly for the heart with their blades, no doubt.

“When we go in,” Dean croaked quietly, glancing a ways away from him and Sam’s hiding spot to the nearest angel group, who chatted quietly as well, “I’m going straight for Cas.”

He wanted to be forthright about his plans, but Dean also glanced over at Sam to see his reaction to the mention of Cas. They hadn’t acknowledged what’d happened between Dean and Cas in that bathroom many days ago, and they certainly hadn’t talked about the nephil. 

But if there was any time to air out anything unspoken between them, it was now. 

“I know,” Sam nodded, staring at the factory, his jaw jumping.

They were quiet. 

Dean’s hand twisted around the handle of an angel blade Hannah had pushed into his hands at some point. Swallowing, Dean added gruffly, “I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you. Cas and I.”

Sam’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, his younger brother carrying an expression torn between weariness and resignation. For a moment, Dean expected Sam to be angry, because in all honesty, Sam should’ve been allowed to get angry. He’d told Cas and Dean not to touch. They’d been thrown into a universe so different from their own, the three of them, and then Dean and Cas had taken it as an opportunity to bone. Worst yet, Dean could understand how Sam might think Dean took advantage of the situation, or took advantage of Cas when Cas was physiologically vulnerable, and still reeling from Jack’s death.

Sam could get angry that on top of putting _them_ in danger, Dean had put Cas in danger by concieving with him, and of course, put the nephil in danger, too. One more person they had to take care of, one more Winchester in the world now that was in peril.

All of this would’ve been a valid reason for Sam to be angry.

And yet; “You and Cas always had a thing,” Sam murmured. 

Dean watched the side of his brother’s face, noting the anger etched in the depths of his wrinkles fade and wisp away like smoke. 

“I never got it. I figured it was a thing I didn’t get because I didn’t have a connection with Cas like you did, and...and I never figured you were gay,” Sam explained quietly. “You never said you were and I never… I guess I never had the guts to ask. But lately, these past few years… I mean, after Cas died, you were a mess. I’d never seen you like that before. You didn’t even mourn Lisa and Ben like that, so I finally just _assumed_. I just assumed you’d been in love with him. And I’m sorry I never asked.”

When Sam looked over, Dean hoped he didn’t look as dumbfounded as he felt. With a heavy swallow, Dean’s teeth clicked as he closed his mouth. He didn’t bother telling Sam he wasn’t gay, or that he was. It didn’t fucking matter, did it? What mattered was that Sam was looking at him with respect, with a quiet acknowledgment of ‘I don’t care who or how you love’. 

“You fucked up,” Sam went on, pursing his lips. “I told you both not to touch each other because I knew in this world, if you touched him in his heat, then you…you’d, um, do what you did. You’d maybe make something you couldn’t take back, make something you didn’t understand. I left in a rush because I needed to work fast. I should’ve explained it to you both first, but I didn’t want to waste time with you fighting me about it.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, to say he wouldn’t have fought him on it, or argued, but hell, they weren’t idiots. Dean would’ve launched into a hysterical _‘you think I wanna fuck Cas? I don’t wanna fuck Cas, what the hell, Sam?_

The way Sam was looking at him, Dean figured his brother was thinking the same thing. 

“Always too smart for your own good,” Dean murmured, shifting on the spot, tapping the tip of his blade against the top of his knee. He glanced over and added, “Still, though, we managed to fuck up your plans.”

“Classic Dean and Cas, I guess.”

“Anyway, I am sorry,” Dean pressed, nudging Sam as he tried to look away. Drawing back the hazel gaze, Dean urged, “This wasn’t how I wanted it to happen with Cas. I had...I _still_ have a lot to apologize for. Stuff ain’t fixed between us yet, but I gotta get him back before I can make shit right. I gotta get him and my...my kid.”

Sam’s eyes widened a bit. He hadn’t adjusted to the idea either, it seemed. Not yet.

“I gotta save them both,” Dean said determinedly. “And then we’re gonna find a way back home, and I’m gonna fix stuff with Jack, too. We’ll find a way to get him back.”

And then maybe Dean could begin to be forgiven.

The brothers stared at each other, then Sam nodded. 

“When we get in there, I’m going straight for Cas, too,” Sam said lowly. “He’s my family.”

“Hell yeah, brother,” Dean murmured. With that, he extended a fist.

Sam glanced down at it and finally smiled, raising his own fist to bump against Dean’s. “Then I’ll wait until we’re back in our own universe to tell you both off for fucking in the bathroom and—”

They both jumped, their hands snapping back to their weapons as the phone in Dean’s pocket went off with a buzzing vibration. Quickly, Sam steeled himself and Dean fumbled for the phone.

The moment he brought it to his ear, he felt blood rushing through his veins and pound in his chest.

“Dean, it’s time. Bring the others.”

***

The difference in Castiel and Hannah was plain as day. As the angels led them into Heaven, Dean could smell that clean smell of ozone coming off of them, the scent like the crisp air on a summer’s day. Good angels. Kind angels. Protectors of humanity. The smell was comforting. 

The smell of grace without corruption. 

They led them into Heaven; Dean, Sam, and the rest of the angels who gazed upon Hannah and Castiel with awe.

“We’re going home,” Castiel said to them firmly, gesturing through the doors as they glowed, Hannah and Gadreel holding each one open. “Your orders are simple: harm no prisoners, and kill all those who try to stop you. But first, take their grace as your own. The power and proximity of the host will meld the grace to you. Go. Aim carefully. And if you see Zachariah, Uriel, or Naomi, you tell them I’m looking for them.”

The Winchesters and their omega friends all poured into Heaven, weapons ready, stances determined and tight with apprehension. Dean and Sam shielded their eyes against the blinding white light as Cas and Hannah escorted them in—or up? 

When they opened their eyes again, they stood at the end of a hallway, two corridors on either side. The walls and floors were made of marble, and Dean thought it might’ve looked quite exquisite at one time, but the lights flickered and at the end of one hallway, it was nearly pitch black. Heaven was struggling.

Wincing, Dean lowered his arm from his eyes and exhaled like his life depended on it, stress pouring out with the stream of air. Grinning a bit, he raised his brows at Sam. “Hey, look at that; we’re not dead.”

Judging by the deep bags carved under Sam’s eyes and the slightly stressed buggy-eyed look to them, he’d been worried about the same thing. 

“Back home, Cas said humans couldn’t enter Heaven, right?” Sam murmured out of the corner of his mouth to dean. “That was the whole deal with Kelly.”

Castiel, who was checking his gun for angel rounds, snapped the magazine back into place with his palm and gestured down the corridor to the right for one set of his troops to go investigate. 

“I knew in all likelihood that the warding had been changed by the alphas in order to smuggle human omegas through the gates,” Castiel explained lowly as the team of angels followed his orders, trudging quickly down a corridor and disappearing. With a second glance at the aghast Winchesters, he added with raised brows, “Stop staring at me like that, I would not have risked you both if I wasn’t almost entirely sure.”

“Almost entirely sure,” Dean echoed, reaching up to run his sleeve over the sweat gathered on his top lip. “Awesome.”

Castiel ignored him, slipping back into leadership mode. He murmured something to Hannah, who nodded and turned away to lead a set of troops down the hallway to the left—but not before stepping into Castiel’s bubble and capturing his lips for a moment.

Dean’s heart sunk a bit; he knew that interaction. He knew it meant; “Just in case I don’t see you again.”

Castiel knew, too. When Hannah stepped away, he rasped, “You get to the Heavens in one piece and you make sure those souls haven’t been tampered with by those meddling alphas. And then you make it back to me. Alive.” 

Hannah nodded, her body turned away but her face still inches from Castiel’s, her big blue eyes sweeping his face like she was trying to memorize him. 

Then she swept away, off to make sure the human souls of Heaven were still ignorantly blissful in their Heavens.

“You’re going after Zachariah?” Dean asked Castiel, whose face went hard as steel.

The muscles in Castiel’s jaw jumped, and when he raised his eyes, they were alight with vengeance. “Yes. He killed my son and taunted me with his death. And Uriel, too. They burnt down my home, desecrated my boy’s funeral.” Castiel began to back away, heading after the first team he sent in the opposite direction from Hannah. “I want Zachariah’s head on the end of an angel blade.”

Dean nodded. “Good luck, Cas.”

“You, too,” Castiel said, licking his lips. “Find your mate and leave as soon as you have him.”

With that, after a solemn, abrupt nod between the three of them, the Winchesters watched Castiel turn away and push into a run. Once he disappeared around the corner, Sam turned to Dean. “You going for Cas?”

“Right for him,” Dean murmured.

“‘Kay,” Sam declared, “I’m coming too.”

“You locked and loaded?” Dean said, jerking his chin at his brother, who patted at his extra ammo and wiggled his gun in the air.

“As much as I can be,” Sam replied. “You think Cas is gonna be guarded pretty tight, huh?”

Dean looked around and breathed carefully through his mouth to try and calm the pounding of his heart. “I think we got seconds before the alphas know we’re in. If he ain’t guarded now, he will be as soon as—”

The Winchesters jumped when, to their left, there was a scream—high pitched and familiar. As if on cue, there was a deafening sound that echoed through the hallway like a buzzer. Like an alarm; the angels knew they were in.

As soon as it faded, they looked down the hallway to follow the scream.

“Hannah,” the brothers said in sync, their eyes widening. 

Sam’s hair twirled through the air as his head turned quickly from the left passageway to the right, looking to see if Castiel was backtracking. “Fuck, we should get Ca—”

“No time,” Dean interrupted, raising his blade into the ready position. “You go to Hannah, and I’ll get Cas.”

Sam’s hand was tight around Dean’s arm, yanking him back when Dean tried to charge away. “Alone? Are you nuts? We don’t even know where Cas is! We’ve never been here—”

“I can find him, Sam,” Dean ground out, his eyes staring with intensity up at his brother’s face. Dean’s heart continued to pound in his chest and he felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck, but he held his weapon firmly. “He’s my...my mate. I can find him anywhere. Go.”

They exchanged weary glances, and Sam’s lip pursed into a tight smile. With raised fists, they bumped knuckles and Dean nodded in a silent salutation of good luck. 

Then, Dean watched Sam run off in the direction of Hannah’s cry, praying—ironically—that he’d be okay. But as soon as his brother’s gangly form twisted around a corner, Dean took a deep breath and turned away to stare around at the different passage ways. They all looked identical, every hallway the same shining, boring white and grey marble. The lights flickered at the end of each, implying that Heaven in this universe was potentially just as worse off as theirs back home.

Nothing said “Cas is down this way”, but Dean turned his feet until he faced the corridor directly in the middle, the warmth of Heaven’s gates on his back. There was nothing special about this corridor, but as his nostrils flared, he smelled it; the rain. Vague cinnamon, lemon, and something like lightning.

Gripping the angel blade in his hands, Dean strode down the hallway with purpose, following the smell of his mate, the sweet, crisp smell of home. His blood pounded in his ears, louder and more insistent as he drew closer. 

Perhaps not all the angels had been alerted to the intruders in their home, because he didn’t see a single one run past him. Perhaps, he thought with a pang in his stomach, there really weren’t enough left for him to bump into, especially if this Heaven was large and expansive. Only once did he have to duck into a doorway to avoid detection as two tall men in gun-metal grey suits walked past him as if they were patrolling. They chatted idly to themselves, missing him entirely. Surely, he thought, they must’ve sensed a human around, or maybe they just wouldn’t expect one even if they felt it. 

Whatever the reason, it worked in Dean’s favour, because he snuck up behind them. Only when his boot squeaked across the floor did they turn. 

His blade was already sliding out of one angel by the time he swung it at the other one. The two screamed, but he squeezed his eyes shut to the blast of their grace past his face. It probably rumbled down the hallway, but all Dean was privy to was the feeling of the body sliding off his weapon and thudding to the floor to join its friend.

The hallway was cleared, but Dean’s lack of detection ended after he stepped over the bodies. The blast alerted others, because down the length of the hallway appeared two more angels, sliding out from within an open door. Perhaps whatever the other two had been guarding was inside.

By the way Dean’s head was filled with the smell of _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ he knew he was close. He knew Cas was in that room. 

“Winchester,” a woman growled, her long black ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she stopped outside the room. She brandished her weapon at Dean. 

Behind her, another angel, a blonde with floppy bangs and gangly limbs glanced between them and warned, “Sophia, aim to kill. This one is the mate, he’ll be aggressive—”

“I always aim to kill,” Sophia snapped, turning her chin up at Dean. 

Bingo. Cas was in the room shining bright light into the flickering hallway.

Sophia’s boots clicked over the hard floor just as Dean’s squeaked when he pushed off, spinning the blade in his hand as he charged forward.

Sophia certainly fought to kill, the swinging of her blade swift and fast. She went right for his throat, but Dean ducked and punched up, knocking the blade from her hand. She barely had time to cry out before they were trading melee blows, their fists swinging through the air, their forearms knocking and eyes locked on each other. She was angry, very angry, but unlucky for her, Dean was angrier.

With a grunt, Dean stumbled back and raised his leg, kicking the angel right in the gut. She stumbled back into her partner, who braced himself against the wall. Thinking they had the advantage of distance between them, the two exchanged looks of triumph, revving to tag-team Dean, but when Sophia and her knuckleheaded friend looked back at Dean, he merely smirked and reeled his hand back.

The angel blade whirled through the air and made a clicking noise as the hilt slid into Sohpia’s vessel with ease. Her dark eyes went wide for a mere moment before she exploded. 

When the light faded, Dean had a gun raised, freshly retracted from the back of his jeans, aimed right between the other angel’s eyes. 

“What’s your name?” Dean asked quietly, watching the angel watch Sohpia’s vessel slide to the side and then thump to the ground. 

The angel swallowed hard, looking up from her corpse to lock eyes with Dean. “Nathaniel.”

“Castiel is in that room—” Dean nodded at the room just over the angel’s shoulder. “—isn’t he, Nathaniel?”

Slowly, floppy blonde fringe tapped against the angel’s forehead as he nodded. “Yes.”

“Awesome,” Dean murmured. With a quick squeeze of his finger, the gun went off with a blast. 

Dean shut his eyes for the same song-and-dance as with the rest of the angels, opening his eyes once the light from the blast faded. He stepped over the bodies, his feet leaving boot prints in the ashes of their wings and leaving a trail behind him as he moved swiftly towards the doorway shining light out into the hall.

“Quick! Shut the door—” someone cried from inside the room.

And Dean’s heart jumped when he heard, “NO!” from…

“CAS!” Dean bellowed, pushing into a run that had him skidding into the doorway once he reached it. 

HIs arm made it through the door that tried to slam and Dean screamed at the burst of pain in his shoulder as it was trapped. On the other side of the door, an angel barred their teeth and flared their grace at him from behind their eyes. He and Dean both struggled as the angel tried to force Dean away from the door while dodging swipes from the angel blade in Dean’s hand.

Behind him, Cas fought with a lady angel who was angling a syringe at him, trying to stab him with it and hold him down on a metal table at the same time. 

“Get _off_ of me—” Cas growled, his arms shaking as he tried to hold her arms away from him. 

“You consented, omega! Now, hold still—”

“THE WINCHESTER IS GETTING IN! KNOCK THE BITCH OUT AND HELP ME, BEATRICE!” the angel at the door roared, ducking as Dean’s flailing arm nearly knicked his throat with the blade.

Dean and Cas locked eyes with each other, and for a moment the room was almost dizzyingly thick with the scent of lemon and rain and all the things that reminded Dean of Cas’ skin and lips and the taste of him. It was like his very chest was filled with nothing but _save your mate._

Cas kicked his captor in the stomach and sat up swiftly, jumping off the table as he was afforded the space. Dean jumped back into gear as well, taking the brief moment where the angel at the door glanced back at Beatrice, who was sprawled on her back on the floor. 

“Cas, catch!”

Both angels cried out in protest, but by the time Cas caught the blade Dean tossed his way, their actions were too late. Cas was driving the angel blade into Beatrice’s chest before the other angel could stop him. 

The door loosened on Dean’s arm as the other angel tried to save his partner, and he had to push his way in with his eyes closed as the small room filled with first the sound of Beatrice’s shrieks and the other angel’s deep groan as Cas took care of him, too.

When there was one heavy thump and the light stopped shining through Dean’s eyelids, he slowly opened his eyes. 

Blood oozed from under the two bodies, their eyes lifeless, faces slack. Above their heads, the lights flickered in Heaven more direly than before.

Cas stood over their bodies, his scrubs speckled in blood, his chest heaving. But he stared at Dean in silence for a second, his face unreadable. 

Then, his expression broke; the crinkles around his eyes deepened and after he dropped his weapon to the floor with a clang, Cas raised a hand to his mouth. 

“Dean?” he rasped in what could only be described as a sob.

“I’m here. I made it. I’m so late, I’m so sorry—” Dean blurted out, his own voice cracked and thin, his eyes burning as he lurched forward.

Meeting in the middle after rushing towards each other, Dean and Cas threw their arms around each other, dissolving into a chorus of shaking gasps and panting. Dean wasn’t sure if he was the one trembling or if it was Cas.

“You were dead,” Cas breathed, swallowing harshly. His fingernails dug into Dean’s skin at the top of his shoulders through his shirt. “They showed me images of… You were dead, Dean. You—”

“Lies, Cas,” Dean whispered fiercely into the soft cotton of Cas’ shirt, his voice muffled. “They lied. I—God, I am so sorry, Cas. I’m so—”

Abruptly, Dean pulled away, his face draining of heat and colour. His hands pulled away from Cas’ skin and while they stood inches from each other, Dean was suddenly frightened to touch him again, feeling guilt ram into his stomach like a freight train. 

After a gulp, as he stared at Cas’ confused, hurt face, Dean breathed, “I...had visions. Of...of you, Cas. Of you up here and they… They were hurting you, they were…”

Cas’ eyes pinched and he lowered his chin, his features cast in the shadow of shame, to Dean’s horror.

“Did they hurt you like that, Cas?” Dean asked. “They forced themselves on you, didn’t they?”

Cas’ eyes dropped to the floor and Dean saw his cheeks flush in a patchy, uneven undertone of red. “Yes. I fought at first but...you died, and I lost hope, Dean. I’m sorry. I was about to let them take me now, moments before you came in...” Cas raised his head and Dean was met with eyes so blue and shining it was like gazing into the ocean, into the depths of sea in the eye of a storm. 

“I am impure,” Castiel finished, his words dripping in self-loathing. “I gave in. I agreed to serve them.”

Dean raised his hands, wanting to touch Cas so badly, after worrying about him and fearing for his safety; he was here, finally, in one piece. But as his hands hovered on either side of Castiel’s face, he couldn’t make the connection. He could not force Castiel to accept his touch.

Still, he leaned forward and Cas did the same. Their foreheads bumped and rested there against each other. Cas sniffled and Dean exhaled carefully through his lips. 

“You are pure, Cas,” Dean murmured. “Nothing they did to you can change how good you are, okay? I...I—God, I just want to touch you, to m-make you feel okay, but I won’t force myself on you, not like these fucking monsters. Even though this universe makes me feel like you’re mine…”

Shaking, sweating hands came up on the other side of Dean’s, and Castiel's palms pressed into Dean’s knuckles, guiding his hands onto his face. 

“You can touch me,” Castiel whispered. “I want you to. I thought you were dead, Dean. I never thought I’d feel your touch again. I...heard all of your prayers, your promises that you’d come, but time went by and...”

They both released small sounds of mourning and melted into each other, arms once again twining around each other’s bodies. Cas’ arms were desperately tight around Dean’s ribs while Dean held Cas’ face with one hand and wrapped one arm around Cas’ shoulders, holding him close. Their foreheads pressed so hard it was bruising, but it felt so good to be close to him, to inhale his scent. Dean felt like home, despite the fact that there was so much between them to discuss, so much water not yet under the bridge, so much tension lurking between their hearts back in their world…

“I meant every word,” Dean murmured, shaking his head, his eyes sliding closed. “I fucked up a lot over the last few years, Cas. I’m not fuckin’ stupid about it. I know I’m a dick, and I know I get angry sometimes. I...I know. I’m not coping well with losing my mom, and I’m still angry at Jack, but I swear to God, Cas, I will spend however long it takes making it up to you—”

Melting against him, their sweating skin sliding, from the crook of his neck, Cas shuddered and pressed his mouth against Dean’s shirt, nuzzling against his mate. 

“—We will find Jack, Cas,” Dean went on, determined. “I will do whatever it takes for Chuck to bring him back, or…or I will dive into the depths of wherever the fuck he is to get him back. He was our kid and I...forgot that. But I—”

Castiel pulled back, their faces inches from each other. Dean stared at him as Cas surveyed his face, looking a bit stunned. Thinking he needed more reassurance, maybe Cas didn’t trust him, Dean opened his mouth to carry on, but—

“I gave birth to a daughter, Dean,” Castiel choked out, looking frightened—of what, Dean was unsure. “You and I, we…we conceived in that bathroom. I heard your prayer, I know you know. But she’s yours and she…” Castiel glanced past Dean out into the hallway, his eyes darting up at the flickering lights. “I won’t leave without her.”

“We made her when I marked you,” Dean mumbled, feeling shocked now that they’d spoken it outloud. 

It seemed to hit them both, the reality. The men stared at each other, eyes a bit wide.

“What happened between us, Dean…” Cas seemed to struggle for words, eyes a bit worried and wild as they scanned Dean’s.

“It was real,” Dean supplied, needing to saying it and knowing that Castiel needed to hear it. 

Cas’ face seemed to melt, tension eased from the lines there. “Thank you.”

“It’s been real since before this universe,” Dean said firmly, his chest feeling light and free, finally weightless after years of worrying. His hands resettled on Cas’ face, his own lips spreading into a smile as Cas’ dry ones curled up shyly in the corners. “This… This place _knew_ it. The heat was a symptom of—”

“A profound bond,” Castiel supplied, tilting his head, turning his lips into Dean’s palm, lips grazing the tips of his fingers.

Dean grinned and laughed, a tear of relief tumbling down his face. “Sure, Cas. Whatever three words you wanna use. They’re all true.”

Still, despite their shared smile, Cas’ face winced again and he said, “I can’t leave without her, Dean, and I won’t abandon her if—when we return home. I know you likely don’t want—”

“Shut up,” Dean interrupted, giving Cas’ face a firm, gentle shake. “No. I know I’ve been a shit dad to Jack, but I can do better. I’ll be better, okay, I—”

The lines around Cas’ eyes deepened and he pleaded, “Dean, listen, there’s anoth—”

Outside in the hallway, there were yells. Dean and Cas jumped, their heads jerking towards the door. Dean fumbled for his gun that he’d tucked into his jeans when he’d launched himself towards Cas, while Cas ducked down swiftly to pick up his bloody blade.

“We gotta go,” Dean growled, clicking off the safety. “The other Castiel and his army are gonna handle shit up here. I’m getting you out and then I’m coming back for Sam, we—”

He started marching off towards the door, but Cas grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

“Cas—” Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “—we gotta go—”

“I had a second child,” Castiel blurted out, his eyes wide, his throat bobbing. 

For a second, everything froze.

Images from Dean’s nightmares flashed behind his eyes, of someone forcing themselves onto Cas, and a painful, screaming birth that smelled of terror and pain. 

Dean stared at him, the kerfuffle in the hallway getting closer behind them. In his chest, his heart dropped for a moment, but when he couldn’t decide why other than a reaction based entirely on possessive hormones, Dean reached out. 

His fingers curled around the back of Cas’ sweating neck and Dean stepped forward with purpose, eradicating the space between him and his mate. Their lips crushed together, their noses bumping. Two small twin grunts escape their throats, but their lips softened and opened and Dean felt the tips of Cas’ fingers grazing his jawline for a moment.

They kissed in the middle of the room, their air seeming to crackle with electricity that had nothing to do with danger surrounding them, or the tension that they still had to deal with when this was all over, but everything to do with the smell before the rain and the profound bond that joined them.

Eventually, Dean pulled away, watching Cas’ big shining eyes that searched desperately for forgiveness or understanding. 

Swallowing loudly, Cas’ mouth opened and closed and he whispered tightly, “They forced themselves onto me and I conceived her, Dean. It was entirely out of my control, a-and I’ve struggled to—”

“You don’t have to explain shit to me. We’ll save your babies, Cas,” Dean said firmly, giving the skin on the back of Cas’ neck a squeeze. “Your family is mine. But I’m gonna need you to lead the way.”

Licking his dry lips, Cas seemed anxious, but then he nodded. “Of course.”

“Let’s go.”

With their weapons ready, Dean led them out into the hallway, turning sharply towards the sound of fighting. When he saw the fight, Dean’s face went cold, blood draining from his cheeks. 

“SAM!” Dean bellowed, pushing off his heels, his feet thumping against the hard marble. Behind him, the sound of Cas’s heavy footsteps bounced off the walls, too.

At the end of the hall, Sam and Castiel were nearly back to back, parrying weapons with Uriel and Zachariah as they battled. Although Sam was fighting Uriel as much as he could; his teeth gritted with effort, his face red and shining as he ducked and swung, obviously the other alpha was faster and stronger. Castiel was splitting his attention between Uriel and Zachariah, trying to protect Sam, but they were clearly losing, being shepherded into a corner.

“Killing Sam Winchester again?” Uriel was laughing, ducking as Sam swung an angel blade at his head. In response to an irritated growl from Sam, Uriel merely laughed heartily and jutted out the butt of his palm, sending Sam flying backwards, thumping into the opposite wall. 

“Sam!” Dean cried again, as Uriel towered over his brother who was holding his head where it had smacked into the marble. 

“I loved watching you burst into pieces before; roadkill spewed over train tracks, a masterpiece of brain and flesh and flannel, but this?” As Sam slid down the wall, leaving behind a thin streak of blood, parting white marble and looking dazed, Uriel twirled his blade and grinned. “This is a redux. This is revenge for your inaction, for your cowardice—”

On his other side, Zachariah blocked Castiel from intervening, stepping between him and Uriel, both hands gripping angel blades while Castiel had none. As Dean slid to a stop, he saw Castiel’s gun slide far off as if it’d been kicked from his hand. Despite that, Castiel’s eyes flared with grace, fury etched into his face. 

It did not go unnoticed that while Sam had initially ran off to find Hannah, she was not in their company.

Dean raised his gun to fire at Uriel, but he hesitated… The shot wasn’t clear. A few wrong inches to the right and he’d kill Castiel instead.

“Uriel, _no!_ ” Dean yelled as the angel reeled back to bury his blade in Sam’s neck. Sam raised a hand, clearly dizzy, as if to stop him.

Castiel was backed into a corner, Zachariah was twisting his blades gleefully for the kill, and Uriel was moments from ending Sam’s life right in front of Dean but—

Uriel’s back curled and he released a choked grunt as Cas slid past Dean and only came to a stop when his blade was thrust up into Uriel’s neck, the hilt crushed into the nape of his skull, the tip bursting from his mouth with a flare of grace.

The blast saved Sam and the light got Zachariah’s attention, turning him away from Castiel. Dean had to screw his eyes shut, but when he opened them, he cried out. 

Cas was suspended in the air, Zachariah’s hand around his throat. The alpha angel’s buggy eyes were wide and glistening with fury as Cas clawed at Zacharich’s wrist, his words melting into gurgles and gasps.

“No!” Dean cried out again, feeling useless, feeling terrified that they’d come this far, only for Zachariah to end Cas’ life right in front of him. His gun shook in his hand and he tried to aim, but again, Castiel was right over Zachariah’s shoulder, back pressed to a wall.

“Naomi wants you protected,” Zachariah snarled, shaking Cas, holding him far out enough that Cas’ weak kicks found no purchase. “She thinks you have a purpose, but my patience has worn thin; I think you bring us nothing but trouble and destruction, _uuuggh_ —”

BANG.

BANG. BANG.

Sam threw his arms over his eyes, Cas cried out as his body was released, and Dean blindly lunged forward, hoping to catch his mate before he hit the ground. 

When he opened his eyes, Zachariah’s body was crumpled on the floor, the ash of his wings searing a pattern into the marble. His eyes were open, mouth parted and slack, the shadows deep in the lines around his eyes as the lights flickered above them.

Behind where he’d been standing, Castiel stood, the barrel of his gun smoking. The bullet buried in Zachariah’s skull still sizzled, burning away the remainder of the grace dying inside the vessel.

Dean looked up at him from the ground, panting. “I didn’t shoot him because I could’ve hit you! No hesitation the other way around though, huh!?”

Castiel leaned down and pushed Uriel’s corpse onto his side, grunting as he yanked out Cas’ blade and flipped it, holding the handle out to Cas.

“I have very good aim,” Castiel replied shortly. “He was killing your mate, should I have hesitated?”

Accepting the blade, Cas exchanged looks with Dean, and Sam huffed out a bit of laughter, rubbing at his head and wincing. “He’s got a point,” Sam croaked, his voice a bit wobbly and faint.

As Cas got to his feet and took two steps towards Sam, dropping down beside him, Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel and nodded. 

“Damn good aim, I gotta give you that.”

Castiel’s lips twitched at the corner and he reached down, extending Dean a hand, which he accepted, letting his friend pull him to his feet. When Dean turned to help Sam to his feet too, he froze and his heart warmed, watching Cas press two fingers to his brother’s head gently. 

Sam shut his eyes, expecting a soft glow from Cas’ fingers, but after a moment, he opened them again when nothing happened.

“Right,” Cas growled, dropping his hand, his forearm resting on his thigh. Distastefully, he looked down at his wrists where he was cuffed. “These blasted things.”

“Here,” Dean heard Castiel say from behind him before the powered angel stepped past him and kneeled down behind Cas. “Give me your hands.”

It was fucking weird; Cas looking hesitantly at Castiel. Dean’s Cas looked so much older beside this world’s un-aged Castiel. For some reason, while it should pain him to know Cas had aged because of his proximity to the Winchesters, his heart squeezed happily. There was a lot of humanity etched into those lines; trials, tribulations, experiences, feelings, pain, love, memories...

Castiel took Cas’ hands into his own—again, they were identical. Dean felt like he was watching a fucked up version of The Parent Trap. But as soon as Castiel’s fingertips touched the cuffs around Cas’ wrists, there was a loud _clink_ that hurt Dean’s ears and then a clattering of metal hitting the floor by their feet. 

Immediately, Cas yanked his hands up his chest, rubbing them with a moan, while his eyes flashed with dull light, his grace obviously flaring back into life.

“Better?” Castiel asked, titing his head.

Cas nodded, giving his hands a twist in the air like he was testing his range of motion to ensure he still had some. “Yes. Thank you for removing those and for rescuing me from Zachariah.” 

The Castiels stared at each other, their twin blue eyes sweeping each others’ faces. Dean could imagine it was strange to gaze at each other, their appearance so similar yet different. 

When the moment almost grew awkward, Cas cleared his throat and turned back to Sam, who was watching them with an almost dopey smile on his faint face.

Again, Cas’ fingers touched Sam’s forehead and Sam’s relieved sigh was loud in the hallway as the injury to the back of his head presumably healed, judging by the glow from Cas’ fingers above his brow and the colour that returned to his face.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam breathed as he opened his eyes, looking up and around at everyone. He let Cas help him to his feet, and when everyone made sure to have a weapon in their hands, Dean turned to his brother.

“What happened with Hannah?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s head jerked up, his eyes wide, confused. 

Dean’s heart sunk.

“Hannah?” Castiel repeated.

Sam shifted on his feet, glancing up at the lights that flickered above them. “Uh, yeah. After you ran off, we heard her scream. W-We thought she might be in trouble. While Dean went after Cas, I went after Hannah, but when I followed the direction of the noise, I got lost. I couldn’t find her, I…”

Castiel turned on his heel with a squeak of rubber and trudged off down a hallway. Dean, Sam and Cas all exchanged looks before following in a rush. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted out, his tone rushed and genuinely apologetic as he fell into step with Castiel. “I thought I could just follow the sounds but—”

“Do not apologize,” Castiel ground out from behind his teeth, his hand twisting around his gun. “Heaven is a sentient place; it will change to suit its own needs. Thankfully, I have my grace back and can speak over angel radio rather than just tune in whenever the angels are on Earth.”

“Are you praying to Hannah now?” Sam asked. “I feel stupid, I should’ve just prayed to her. She has grace now…”

Dean glanced at Cas, who nodded, confirming that Castiel was praying.

“You three should go,” Castiel said suddenly, stopping in the middle of an intersection of hallways, scowling around at the end of the corridors where the lights flickered or were entirely out. 

Stopping in a group, Cas, Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Sam spoke first, “Why?”

“Because,” Castiel said firmly, pointing his gun down a dark hallway, “Naomi is near, but the gate out of here is nearer. If you get out now, you can avoid her. My angels are powering up on repurposed grace as we speak, so we can take it from here. You both have fulfilled your roles, I can’t thank you enough. What you’ve done—” 

His blue eyes widened, pausing his speech. Dean watched him begin to look far away, his gaze glazed over. 

Knowing that look, Dean looked over at Cas, who had the same expression on his face. “What’s going on, Cas? Angel radio?”

“Naomi,” Cas choked out, his face screwed up. “She’s… She’s…”

Castiel gave his head a firm shake and growled, “She’s heading towards the nursery. She’s intending to use Castiel’s children as bait. She won’t let him leave.”

Before anyone could do a single thing, or come up with a modicum of a plan, or even begin to speak, Cas was running.

“CAS!” Dean barked before he too took off in a rush, tearing after his mate, smelling panic and fear in the air behind Cas. The smell before the rain was now the smell before the storm, swirling and terrorizing. It made Dean’s heart pound and blood rush in his ears. In his chest, he felt tightness and numbness that he wasn’t sure was a sensation that was entirely his. “CAS, STOP!”

But there was no stopping the angel whose children were in danger, and despite Castiel and Sam yelling at Dean to stop too, there was no stopping Dean from protecting his mate and offspring, so who was Dean to be pissed he wasn’t being listened to?

The four of them sprinted through Heaven, emerging from black corridors and pounding their way through corridors barely lit by trembling lights, passed doors opened to rooms with angels dead on the floor. Cas slid through a puddle of blood, passed groups of graceless angels firing bullets into hordes of alpha angels, and even passed some of the graceless pulling grace from the slit throats of their enemy, reclaiming their places in Heaven. Dean would’ve been happy for them if he had a moment to feel anything but urgency and—

Dean almost went crashing into Cas’ back when they turned a corner into a brightly lit hallway, and behind him as he stopped, he heard Sam’s boots skidding across the floor and Castiel’s boots thumping into a slowed jog. 

“I heard your prayer,” Naomi hissed from behind Hannah, her blade pressed to her throat, yanking Hannah’s head back by her brown hair in a fist. “I see you heard mine too.”

“Naomi—” Cas started, but was interrupted by Castiel, who shoved past everyone roughly, his gun raised.

“Let Hannah go,” Castiel snarled, spit flying. “I swear to—”

“God?” Naomis suggested, raising a brow. “Don’t waste your breath, sterile scum. God is dead.”

 _God is a dweeb in a bathrobe,_ Dean thought, but was immediately pulled from his thoughts by the smallest of cries. A baby, a small mew. Then another baby. They were’t crying, they were simply letting themselves be known. Perhaps they knew their mother was nearby.

“You came for your offspring,” Naomi said conversationally to Cas, both of her brows raised now. “I knew you would. A rebel to the core, but an omega bitch always.” She paused, looking from Cas to Castiel, a smirk curled on her lips. “Right, Castiel? A slave to your babies, even when you don’t remember them. I suppose it physically stung as they died, didn’t it? I wasn’t too pleased about Samandriel myself…”

Castiel gritted his teeth and raised his gun at her threateningly.

“I felt his death, too,” she hissed. “He was ours, after all.”

The glass separating Hannah and Naomi in the hallway from the babies in the nursery shattered as Castiel fired a series of warning shots.

“Shut UP!” Castiel commanded, his hands shaking around his gun. “I would _never_ mate with you. You’re vile—”

“You had no choice. Think!” she snapped. “Why else would I have fought for you to be kept alive? After time and time again when you went catatonic, after each birth that diminished the Host’s faith in you to perform. They almost terminated you, Castiel, but I knew you produced strong angels. I made one with you near the end and he was _perfect_ —” Her face was twisted in anger, shining and red. Spit speckled her lip. “He was perfect, but he was an omega and he chose to fall with you. He chose _you_. You passed on that rebellious gene and _took_ him from me.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other in horror, and he almost wanted to take the gun from Castiel’s hands because it shook so terribly. If Cas fired, he’d miss. He’d kill Hannah.

“I-If that’s true,” Hannah snapped, speaking up from Naomi’s clutches, her hands curled into fists at her side, “then you cannot pretend his rebellion hurt you, that you cared. Samandriel died around _your_ General’s blade and that blood is on your hands, _bitch_.”

“How can I mourn a traitor?” Naomi replied harshly, shaking Hannah, nicking her neck with the blade. She pointed it at Cas in anger. “Why should I have cared? The new one, the sterile one… I would make more fledglings with him, fledglings that wouldn’t leave, that would rebuild Heaven. My blood would pick up the pieces of the Winchester’s reign of destru—”

But Naomi had made a mistake lifting her blade from Hannah’s neck. Blinded by her vengeance, by her moment to gloat about her scheme, the bitch had left a window of opportunity for her own downfall. Naomi barely had time to yelp when Hannah grabbed her by the arm and lurched forward, hurling Naomi through the air and sending her crashing onto her back, splintering hard marble into cracks.

The sound was deafening but sent everyone into action.

“Go to the gates and get out!” Castiel yelled, grabbing Dean by the arm and shoving him past Naomi and Hannah, who grappled on the floor. “Go to your children and take them away from here. We’ve got this handled. _Go!”_

Not needing to be told twice, Cas said,”I’ll get the babies!”, and ran for the room with the broken glass where his nephil and fledgling squealed in alarm.

Dean tore after him, skidding to a stop outside the room, where Cas met him, handing him what was probably the smallest human he’d ever seen in his life. For a brief moment as Cas carefully put the baby in his arms, they exchanged a small smile and Dean dared a glance down at his daughter that he’d never met before—

Not a moment had he locked eyes with her green eyes when he was having to close his own again and duck, curling around his kid. Naomi’s shriek blasted through hallway, and the ground shook for a moment as she sent Sam, Castiel, and Hannah flying several feet off of her. When Dean turned around, Sam was sliding down the hall, Hannah was groaning on her back, and Castiel’s throat was lodged in Naomi’s hand, his feet dangling in the air.

“Enough,” Naomi hissed, her eyes flaring. “I was hoping to exchange your whore for the Winchesters, but I think my mercy has reached its limits. You have been a pair of thorns in my side for _eleven years_.”

“No!” Dean cried out, watching Naomi’s blade slide from her sleeve, and feeling hopeless as Castiel clawed at her hands, his face red as his windpipe was crushed.

Behind him, in the doorway to the nursery, Dean heard Cas growl and then he was shoving past him, leaving Dean unable to help as his daughter squirmed in his arms. “Cas, no!”

Despite Cas’ determination to save his doppelganger, it didn’t matter anyway, because Hannah sprung to her feet, launching herself towards Naomi in a way that made Dean feel like her wings carried her there, fast and swift. 

Castiel’s body hit the ground and he groaned, while Hannah crashed into Naomi, catapulting them into a wall, cracking marble and bringing dust down onto their heads. Sam was fumbling to help a dazed Castiel to his feet, but before anyone—not Cas, nor Dean, and not even Castiel and Sam—could do anything, Naomi had turned on Hannah.

Naomi’s blade sunk into Hannah’s vessel with a slick squelch and a thump when the hilt pressed against her abdomen, soaking her middle with blood that dripped to the floor. Hannah merely exhaled shakily before light swelled and burst from behind her eyes. 

Castiel’s scream was all Dean could hear as he shielded his eyes again and curled around his baby, turning away from the light to shield her face.

When the light faded, Naomi was standing over Hannah’s discarded corpse, watching the blood ooze out from under her stomach, smirking as her eyes followed Hannah’s wing marks across the floor and up the wall.

Having snuck behind Naomi during the kill, Cas surged forward with a growl, his eyes flashing with a blinding white light. Before Naomi could turn to look from Hannah’s wings burned into the ground or retract her blade from Hannah’s stomach, Dean’s Cas was behind her, his strong hands around her elbows, wrenching her back to his chest, holding her steady. At the very same time, overcome with grief, Castiel jerked his arm from Sam’s grasp and lunged forward, ducking to pull the blade from Hannah’s stomach.

It seemed Naomi realised what was happening before anyone else because she screamed just in time for Castiel to lunge with a ragged cry and bury the angel blade into her stomach as Cas held her there for him. 

Cas stared down at Naomi with pursed lips and nostrils flaring as she tipped her head back against his jaw and shrieked, grace blasting from her vessel.

Dean and Sam shut their eyes tightly to avoid being burned alive as Naomi’s grace flared and blasted through the corridor, the wave blowing a gust of wind through their hair and clothing. No sooner was the light gone and the shriek faded, when Cas tossed Naomi’s body aside with a thud that had everyone looking up and blinking hard to rid their vision of stars. 

Dean’s heart broke in his chest, and he felt his knees grow weak. 

Castiel had dropped back down to the floor, his hands shaking as they hovered over Hannah’s blank face, his shining, mournful eyes staring into her dull, lifeless ones. 

“ _No,”_ Castiel moaned, the noise so horrible Dean felt himself numbly hand his nephil to Cas, who instinctively was right there. His Cas was ready to take her, because Dean walked forward, stopping only to brace himself against a white, cold wall as he skidded in Hannah’s blood that spread in a puddle over the ash of her wings. 

“Please, please _, no_. Hannah. _Hannah,”_ Castiel rasped, his breaths loud in the hallway that was otherwise so silent they could’ve heard a pin drop. No one spoke. No one breathed.

Dean kneeled down beside the graceless angel slowly, grief washing over him in waves as her hot blood soaked into the denim of his knees and he watched Castiel’s face crumble, a thick, heavy wave of tears pouring down his cheeks. They dripped off his nose and chin onto Hannah’s clothing. 

“You can’t leave me,” Castiel sobbed. “You _can’t_ —”

It seemed like Castiel didn’t even feel Dean’s hand on his shoulder as he curled over Hannah, pulling her to his chest, his face buried in her hair. Castiel wept into it, his shoulders shaking, his entire body visibly wracked in tremors. Hannah’s waves fluttered in the air under her head, the tips pulling across a puddle of dark crimson. The strands left thin streaks over Castiel’s bare forearms. 

Her hand was limp on the floor by his knees.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, shaking his friend’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Castiel, hey, she’s… She’s gone.”

“It should have been _me_ ,” Castiel moaned through shallow, sharp breaths. “It should h-have been me.”

Feeling lost, feeling unable to do anything of use, Dean looked over his shoulder for help, but Sam was standing off to the side, his chin trembling, his eyes glossy as he stared at Hannah. Beside him, Cas was pale, his eyes wide as he gazed at his counterpart in mourning. The nephil curled into a ball in his arms and Dean saw Cas hold her tighter, pulling her up into his neck protectively as if he wanted to shield her from the atrocity before them.

In the distance, a baby cried. 

“S-Sam,” Dean heard his Cas say quietly. “Hold her for me, I’ll be back.”

Dean looked up from Castiel only to watch Cas walk down the hallway towards the sound of the small mewing and hiccups, ducking into a room off to the side, disappearing from sight.

Lowering his gaze back to the scene of sorrow, Dean curled forward too, wrapping an arm entirely around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him up, away from Hannah.

“Hey, hey,” was all he managed to say before Castiel uncurled and turned towards him, his face the picture of despair. He seemed to fall into Dean and the two hugged fiercely, Castiel’s body trembling against Dean’s chest, his tearful cheeks sliding against the skin of Dean’s neck. 

“I’m so sorry,” Dean whispered. “God, I’m so sorry, Cas.”

Horrible, hoarse hiccups sounded near his ear, and hot breath puffed over his hair. When Dean’s hand raised to cradle the back of Castiel’s head, the hair was wet with sweat. 

“What was the point of all this if she’s dead?” Castiel wept, digging his nails into Dean’s back, his bloody fingers sliding against the sweaty skin at the top of Dean’s shirt, his hand grasping at material.

“The point is that you’re not gonna let her die in vain,” Dean replied firmly, scrubbing his fingers through Castiel’s hair and squeezing him tightly. 

Behind Castiel’s back, Cas emerged from the room, and in his arms was another small baby swathed loosely in a blanket that cascaded down Cas’ front. Dean saw the blue eyes were wet, but determined as he approached them.

“You’re gonna bring your people home,” Dean went on, watching Cas crouched down beside them, his eyes pinched as he looked down at Hannah. Dean knew his Cas had known a Hannah back in their universe. He suspected it was probably the same one. He suspected seeing her dead was painful, too. 

He and Cas locked eyes, but Dean whispered to the other Castiel, “You’re gonna run Heaven like it was supposed to be run, with the rest of the angels, with good people at the helm. With your family—”

“And you can raise the next generation of angels,” Cas interjected.

Dean’s heart stopped in his chest, and his eyes went wide in realization.

Castiel continued to weep for a moment, still entirely overcome, but he pulled away from Dean in response to Cas’ words, his face red and wet and still twisted in grief. Blinking, looking over at his double.

“This child,” Cas whispered, his blue eyes locked with identical ones, “it’s yours, Castiel. You and I, we are made of the same DNA. This little one was forced upon me, forced into my body. I...was... It… _She_ is not responsible for how she was conceived, but…” 

Dean’s heart broke for his Cas. Dean could tell by the crinkle of the skin around Cas’ eyes and the faint shine in his eyes that he felt shame; it was suddenly clear… Cas wasn’t bonding with this fledgling. 

It was a trauma response. Of course Cas would have a hard time connecting. Of course he would, but Dean knew Cas. He knew that despite that logic, his mate probably carried the guilt as heavy as the weight of the world for not loving his daughter the way he thought he should. All Cas ever wanted to do was do the right thing, be a good person.

 _You were raped,_ Dean wanted to say. _Please don’t be angry with yourself._ But what would be the point? When had Cas ever listened to anyone when the snide voices in his head were probably deafening.

Dean knew that feeling all too well.

Confirming this, Cas whispered, “I haven’t connected to her, not like I have with my nephil.”

A strange concept, it was, to give away a child like this. But Dean stared at Cas, seeing his own unique grief in his face; guilt, sadness...relief. Dean knew Cas would’ve loved that child no matter what, if they’d taken her back with them. He _knew_ no child in any world would be loved like that one was, but...he understood that the kid had come from assault, from rape. In this moment, in this situation, with these people, in this world…this made sense.

It all made sense.

“W-What?” Castiel hiccuped, fresh tears still running down his face like they were never going to stop. His shaking, bloody hand came up and ran over his face, trying in vain to brush away tears. “I d-don’t understand.”

He was lying. He understood. Even in his grief, as Cas held his arms out to pass him the child, Castiel was already reaching out to take her. 

“My vessel is your vessel,” Cas breathed, a tear of his own running down his face. “Your flesh is my flesh, your blood is my blood. She...is yours, if you’ll have her. I can feel...I can feel that she belongs to you, not to me.”

“No,” Castiel sobbed, curling around the hiccuping baby in his arms, holding her close to his chest, his hand curled down to press his cheek against her head. “I-I won’t be any good.” He looked over at Dean, his eyes wide and desperate, as if he wanted Dean to tell him he wasn’t good enough. “I…”

More tears cut through blood and sweat, and tangled in dark stubble. 

Dean raised his hands to Castiel’s face, and like Castiel had done once to him when he’d most needed it, Dean held his head firmly, tipping his chin to meet his eyes. With a smile, Dean whispered, “She belongs to you and you know it. You’re gonna be a great father. The best, just like Hannah always said. She knew, Cas. She always knew.”

Embracing his new daughter like he’d never let her go, Castiel wept harder but he nodded. 

His smile still on his lips, Dean leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s warm forehead, his lips lingering, his fingers brushing through damp hair. “You’re going to be the best.”

As Castiel shook, Dean pulled him close, letting the grieving soldier cry on his shoulder. On the other side of Hannah’s body, Cas watched sadly, watching his counterpart mourn. 

“I haven’t named her yet,” Cas murmured, reaching over to slid a hand over his twin’s shoulder. Giving it squeeze, he said, “But I think she looks like a ‘Hannah’.”

Castiel raised his head from the hiding place Dean had made for him in the crook of his heck, and he blinked, his blue eyes widening for a moment. Dean looked between the Castiels and in his chest, he felt the spark of a new beginning. 

“I… Yes,” Castiel whispered, reaching up with his free hand to wipe his wrist under his nose. With a broken little laugh, he breathed, “I think you’re right.”

Despite his grief, Castiel gazed down at his new daughter, looking bewildered and terrified, tears still running down his face. Looking away from him, Dean turned his head, and smiled tightly at his Cas, who returned the expression.

“What about yours?” Castiel asked roughly, still hiccuping a bit. 

Cas and Dean followed his gaze to the baby sleeping in Sam’s arms, looking incredibly small in his massive palms.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted, his face melting ever so slightly into a warm expression that Dean had only ever seen him reserve for those quiet moments they had together, or when Cas spoke of Heaven as it had used to be. “I’ve spent weeks talking with her but never addressing her by name. I think…” Cas turned his head to stare unblinkingly at Dean, the corners of his eyes softening. “I think we were waiting for you, Dean.”

Dean stared at Cas, feeling a bit lost. He blinked, giving his head a little shake. “Um...I… I guess…” 

Cas stared back at him through big blue eyes rimmed in dark lashes, his hair curled on the ends where sweat damped the chocolate locks and suddenly the impulse for Dean to say ‘I don’t know’ faded away.

“Andi,” Dean whispered. “What about Andi?”

Inches from his face, Castiel bowed his head, pressing his cheek against baby Hannah’s head, his face twisted in grief for another piece of family he’d lost.

From the other side of Hannah’s body, despite not knowing Andi or anything about his story, Cas nodded slowly. “Andi… Like Andromeda. Ruler of men. A constellation.”

Dean’s face split into a smile. “Andromeda. I like that. Bad ass. Takes no shit.” 

“Part-Heaven, part-man,” Cas murmured, his teeth white between his parting lips as he smiled crookedly. “Cosmic.”

“And...I knew an Andi here,” Dean added, his eyes dropping to Hannah’s drained white face, her eyes staring up lifelessly, just as Andi’s had many days ago. “Andi was one of Castiel’s angels, and one of his own kids. He was so fucking _good,_ Cas, and kind and loved.”

Castiel sniffled against his baby’s head, pulling her sleeping form close. She would be so, so loved, too.

Dean’s Cas was still staring, his eyes unblinking and unbelievably warm. “I want to hear more about Andi, Dean. When—”

“When you’re back in your world,” Castiel interrupted. 

Everyone else got to their feet and Dean and Cas moved towards each other while Castiel stayed at Hannah’s side, holding his baby closely.

“We need to get you back to your world,” Castiel said again, running the back of his wrist under his eyes. “Your family belongs somewhere else, somewhere better.”

Looking up and down the empty hallway, though they heard fighting in the distance, Cas scowled, raising his hand to push his sweaty fringe back. 

As Sam shuffled over and passed Cas his baby, Cas admitted, “We don’t know how.”

“We have grace now,” Castiel interjected, a twin scowl on his face, too, as he watched Sam pick up his blade again, holding it at the ready in case the fighting reached them from the noises down the hallway. “Myself and the other angels... They’re stealing grace as they overpower the alphas. Perhaps we can help, summon some ancient power to bend the fabric between worlds...”

As weird as it was, Dean watched Cas reach forward and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. With pity, Cas winced. “I stole grace once before, Castiel. It drained me, I nearly died.”

But Castiel shrugged and said lowly, “Not here. Not in Heaven. Ever since we entered, I can feel it tethering to me, weaving itself into my being. There are differences between our worlds, remember that.”

Cas’s eyebrows knitted and he nodded, his hand slipping off Castiel’s shoulders. “I see. Well, regardless of this, angel grace cannot rip the fabric between our worlds. I’ve had my own grace since I arrived. God himself pushed us into this universe. The only nephilim we ever knew is…”

Dead. Gone.

“My son,” Cas went on, his voice thin and wavering, his head dipped forward so his lips were on Andi’s fine hair, “he could’ve...if he…”

“We’ll get him back,” Dean whispered, stepping forward, tugging Cas towards him. “I told you we would.”

In his arms, Cas sniffed sharply, and the rattling breath that trembled over the skin of Dean’s neck lifted in peaks at the sound of grief. 

“I just want to go home, I want to leave this place,” Cas whispered. 

Dean slipped his arm around Cas' shoulders, reaching between them blindly, his heart jumping when his hand touched his daughter’s and she gripped him back, her small fingers curling around his thumb. 

Cas was never like this; so hopeless, so desperate to be rid of a situation. But Dean remembered that Cas had been in Heaven for months. He'd thought Dean was dead, that he’d been left alone to be some breeder like livestock. Alone in a different world where he was forced to become complacent to what was being done to him.

Dean remembered Hell, too, so he knew the feeling.

With his throat tight, he croaked, “We’ll leave Heaven, we’ll get you out of here. Now. And on Earth, we can regroup and figure out—”

“No,” Cas growled. “I want to leave this universe. I want Jack. I want Chuck dead, and then I want peace. I’m _tired._ ”

He knew Sam was watching, and that Castiel was still watching, too, still mourning beside the corpse of his mate. It was a terrible time to be embracing like this, to be making a scene, but their lives were a fucking mess, weren’t they? Nothing about them was normal—”

“Guys,” Sam said.

“I’m so tired,” Cas went on, exhaling heavily, shaking his head against Dean’s face, their cheeks brushing. “I’ve grown tired of this _bullshit_ , I just—”

“I wanna go home too,” Dean said comfortingly. “And we will, I swear, Cas. You, me, Andi, and Sam. We’re going home to the bunker and Andi is gonna meet Jack one day, okay? I fucking swear, Cas—”

“ _Castiel,_ lift your head.”

Dean had to lift his head, too, because the words _to_ Castiel had come _from_ Castiel, who was staring dumb-founded at something over Dean’s shoulders. Cas, being addressed by his full name, pulled up his head and followed his doppleganger’s wide blue gaze locked on something gold and glowing…

Sam’s face, too, was wide and grinning, his hazel eyes a bright copper in the golden glow. “We’re going home,” he said in awe.

When Dean turned around, feeling Cas do the same in his arms with their baby between them, he felt his entire body hum with radiating warmth.

There, right in the center of the hallway, shimmering and curling through the air loftily, was a portal. 

It split the corridor in two and cast them in a soft glow.

“A nephilim opened a portal between worlds once before, you said?” Castiel rumbled, slowly rising to his feet, baby Hannah sleeping still on his chest, though she turned her small face towards the warmth. “It seems...perhaps, another nephilim opened this one for you now too.”

Their eyes wide, Dean and Cas gaped at each other, and then together, they looked down at the small half-angel between them.

Andi’s lips were curled into a smile and her bright green eyes gazed contently at the portal she’d conjured, ready to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more tiny chapter left to show the boys and their girl arriving home. <3 And maybe a character I didn't tag for shows up...
> 
> Please leave me a comment to let me know what you think. It's been a wild ride and I wanna know how y'all are feeling about the ending of this story! Also, lemme know how you're doing--these past weeks have been insane, I hope you all are doing well, staying at home, and following public health advisories.


	12. The Smell Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, that's all, folks.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me and waited patiently for chapters and commented on each one. Y'all seriously make this worth writing when you give such kind and enthusiastic feedback.
> 
> The hugest thank you to my main alpha/betas, MalMuses and son_of_a_bitch_spn_family, and to all the other people who helped beta this along the way. Real life heros, y'all. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3

“You could come with us,” Dean had said to Castiel, pausing as he, Cas, and Sam stepped towards the portal. 

But of course, Castiel had turned down the offer. Even his broken, Godless world needed Heaven and angels. 

So they stepped through the portal, Cas looking back at his other daughter for a moment before everything went gold. 

Dean looked back to get one final glimpse of Castiel since, after all, they’d likely never see each other again. 

Castiel didn’t break their shared stare. This would be the last time he locked eyes with Dean Winchester, too. For the final time.

Falling through the portal was less dramatic than last time. This time they landed softly on two feet, not into a showering of gunfire and riots. This time when they opened their eyes, they opened them to see peace and hear nothing but silence.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel peered around at the library, having landed at the top of the steps, looking out across the landscape of tables and warm lamplight, over the tall mahogany pillars and stain-glass adornments above the telescope in the observatory.

“We’re home,” Sam breathed.

The three exchanged looks and Sam dropped down onto the steps, obviously needing to sit as he rested his head against the cement wall on either side of the stairs. Dean and Cas turned their heads to look at each other and they smiled. Cas groaned, leaning his head on Dean’s shoulder, while Dean held Andi close to his chest and kissed the top of Cas’ head.

“We did it,” Dean laughed into brown hair. “We fucking did it--well, Andi did it. She’s a fucking badass—”

“Actually,” a voice said, “ _I_ did it!”

Sam jumped to his feet, Dean whirled on the spot, and Castiel brandished the angel blade still held tightly in his hand at the source of the voice behind them.

Jack stood at the base of the iron steps, a small smile on his face and his hand raised by his shoulder in greeting. “Hello!”

“ _Jack?_ ” Castiel asked, his voice tight and perplexed. The blade fell to his side and Castiel took a few confused steps towards the nephil, his jaw dropped. 

“Yes, hello,” Jack replied, his lips splitting into a big smile as he looked between the other three men. “I’m so glad you made it back in one piece. It had been a while since I wielded my powers, so I wasn’t sure if I’d accessed the right universe. I tried a couple of times, to be honest. Once, there were squirrels that came out— _oof_!”

There was an audible thump when Castiel forgot to be suspicious and instead rushed towards the nephil, throwing his arms around his shoulders. Jack seemed surprised at the embrace, but incredibly pleased.

“You’re alive,” Castiel gasped, and from Jack’s grinning but slightly red face, Cas was clinging to him hard. 

“I think so,” Jack replied thoughtfully, shrugging as much as he could in Cas’ embrace. “I was in the Empty with Billie—”

“Billie?” Sam asked, brows shooting up onto his forehead.

“Yes.” Jack nodded when Castiel finally pulled away to hold Jack at arms length, his eyes scanning his face in wonder. “She was there with the Empty as well. But I wasn’t there for long. Maybe a few days at the most before I heard Andi.”

Jack grinned and sidestepped a Cas that looked like he might’ve been on the edge of bursting into tears. His blue gaze followed Jack as the tall nephil strode over to Dean, who was still a bit shocked at Jack’s reappearance. Dean felt like how Cas looked; perplexed, amazed, and highly emotional.

When Jack stopped in front of him, ducking a bit to make a squished face at the baby in Dean’s arms, Dean had to swallow the lump in his throat that at the moment was holding down a sob. His heart squeezing as he gazed at Jack, who was waving and pulling a silly face at Andi.

Andi wriggled in his arms, her big green eyes on Jack.

“It’s so funny,” Jack chuckled, glancing up at Dean. “She can’t speak here.”

“She... _spoke_ to you?” Sam said, his voice a bit high. He, too, was slowly approaching Jack, looking torn between a bit of fear and whirling emotion that made his eyes look glossy.

“Oh yeah,” Jack confirmed, standing up straight and looking around at the men who were almost circling him at this point. “She came to me in the Empty. She said I was missed, that her family wanted to come home to see me. She said I deserved to be saved, so...”

Dean and Cas locked eyes and Cas’ chin trembled a bit, his composure cracking as Jack continued to peer around at everyone contently. 

“So she brought you back and opened the portal,” Dean finished slowly, glancing down at his daughter who was drooling on his shirt and didn’t seem at all capable of ripping a tear through the fabric of time.

Jack actually laughed, his shoulders jumping a bit. “No, _I_ opened the portal. She just saved me from the Empty. She’s very small,” Jack said, pointing at Andi as if it was _obvious_ that her universe-bending powers were limited by her size. “Her will pulled me from the Empty, like I pulled Castiel out a few years ago. But she needed _me_ to open the portal, so I did!”

Sam, Dean, and Castiel continued to stare at Jack, who’s smile faltered. When it completely fell, he licked his lips and swallowed hard.

“Are… Are you still angry?” Jack asked, wincing. “I thought I was helping… I thought I could begin to make amends for…for...”

There was silence as no one initially brought up Mary. And Dean’s trigger reaction was to turn and leave, to not say anything, to potentially blow a gasket, to remind Jack that he’d left a hole in his heart that couldn’t ever be mended, but…

Andi shifted in Dean’s arms and hiccuped, beginning to cry. Admittedly, Dean panicked, not having taken care of a baby in a long, long time, but before he could even ask for Cas, the angel was at his side, pulling her from his arms. 

Against Cas’ chest, the nephil grew quiet, her small fingers curling into his shirt as he bounced her around, his eyes still on Jack. 

With his arms free, Dean knew what to do. The feeling of anger in his stomach began to shrink and simply flicker there inside him like the smallest flame on the tip of a candle wick. Taking up more room in his chest, a different kind of spark ignited closer to Dean’s heart, sending warmth flooding through him.

“I’m still angry,” Dean admitted roughly, reaching up to rub at his mouth. It lingered there for a moment, then fell away as he stepped forward, his face draining of tension. “But, fuck, Jack, I-I’m sorry. I missed you.”

Nothing was resolved and they’d have to work through the tangled mess of their dynamic, but when Dean pulled Jack into his arms, he could feel the regret in the tightness of Jack’s returned embrace. Jack had killed Dean’s mom, made him relive having to deal with her being taken again. When he’d been a kid, it had almost been easier because he didn’t know what he was missing, but as an adult…losing her was devastating.

But losing Cas had been worse. And due to all this bullshit, he had Andi. A silver lining. A beginning of forgiveness, of making amends. 

Sam was alive and Cas… 

Cas was alive, and he was staring at Dean with shimmering eyes layered in tears of relief. 

Cas had heard Dean’s prayers in Heaven. He’d heard Dean whisper that he loved him, and he knew, from the very existence of the tiny girl in Cas’ arms, that he loved him back. 

They all had shit to work out between them, but this was a start. 

“Thank you,” Jack breathed into the flannel of Dean’s shirt, and he buried his face into his neck, sniffling. 

“All right,” Dean said gruffly, patting the nephil on the back, tugging him away and holding him at arm’s length. 

When Jack quirked the corner of his lip in a watery way, Dean exhaled, long and slow.

“If there’s anything I can do—” Jack began.

Dean raised a finger. “Actually, there is.”

Castiel and Sam exchanged looks.

Patting Jack on the shoulder, Dean rooted around for his keys and held them up between them. “The Impala is in the garage. Take Sam with you to the pharmacy—make sure there isn’t anything for sale called _Be Beta_ —”

Sam made a noise of alarm and Castiel’s jaw jumped.

“—and grab some diapers and some formula. Just to get us through some solid sleep and showers, until we can get others stuff for Andi.”

Jack’s face screwed up and he tilted his head, his brows furrowed. “Formula? Like math?”

“No,” Dean groaned, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “It’s like… Nevermind, Sam will help you.”

“Formula; not like math. Got it,” Jack said, nodding and accepting the keys with wide eyes like Dean had just given him the Holy Grail filled to the brim with forgiveness.

Approaching Castiel and winking at him while he reached out to rub his fingers over Andi’s fine hair, Dean said fondly, “Your sister’s gonna be hungry eventually, Jack.” He paused, waiting for confirmation from the baby’s mother, the one person who would actually know. “Right, Cas?”

Castiel’s eyes grew bright and he nodded. “Yes. She’s on Earth now, and—” Castiel scowled awkwardly, adding in a mutter, “And I’m no longer _different_ here, so…”

Between them, Dean reached down and took Cas’ free hand, giving it a squeeze before he turned his head and regarded his entire family, the small lot of them.

“Good. So you two get that stuff while Cas and I figure out sleeping arrangements now that it’s _Two Men and A Baby_ in here—” He paused to let Sam groan and rub at his eyes, inspired by the smallest spark of amusement in his chest, feeling like slowly, things could get back to normal— “And when you get back,” Dean declared, “we’re gonna talk about how all this portal shit really worked, and what the Hell Billie was doing with Jack in the Empty, and then after…”

He trailed off, thinking hard. 

Sam raised a brow. “After?”

Castiel’s fingers were warm in his, and when they gave him a squeeze, Dean looked around at his family. He could’ve sworn he smelled the vaguest waft of rain, like a storm was coming.

“And then after we’re going to find God, and we’re gonna kill him.”

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this! Please don't forget to comment, I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the entire fic. 
> 
> Much love and stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> What'd you think? 
> 
> Please leave a comment for this starving fanfic writer. She loves them sweet, buttery comments. *licks fingers* Sew deliciouuuus.


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